


With A Little Help From My Friends

by Asami_T



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, Black Hermione Granger, Black Lavender Brown, Crossdressing, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, Good Rita Skeeter, Indian Harry Potter, Intimacy, M/M, Non-Binary Harry Potter, Non-binary Sirius Black, Recreational Drug Use, Salem Witches' Institute (Harry Potter), Tiresian Tonic, Trans Female Character, Trans Rita Skeeter, Trans Ron Weasley, Well-Intending Dumbass Cornelius Fudge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 78,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27992832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asami_T/pseuds/Asami_T
Summary: On October 31, 1994 -- The champions for the Triwizard Tournament are announced. From this event, a great chain of events are set into motion that will change some lives, give Harry Potter some new chances, strengthen some friendships, and open doors that had never been opened before.
Relationships: Other Pairings Included, Parvati Patil/Harry Potter
Comments: 51
Kudos: 147





	1. I'm Gonna Try With A Little Help From My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "With A Little Help From My Friends" by The Beatles, 1967

The flames inside the Goblet turned crimson red once more—sparks shooting out in every direction. In a sudden moment, the room lit up as the flame ejected a scrap of parchment paper. Dumbledore snatched it in his hands, glancing over it.

“The champion for Durmstrang Institute,” he called out. “Viktor Krum!”

The storm of applause and cheering for the young Quidditch star filled the room. It was quite easy to see just how taken everyone was with the young hero of the World Cup. Harry watched as Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table, slinked his way up to the Headmaster, before sweeping past the staff table through the double doors to the next chamber.

Once the applause and cheering had finally died down, the room waited with anticipation over the next name to be called. The Goblet lit up red again, before another lick of flame ejected a second parchment sheet.

“The champion for Beauxbâtons Academy—Fleur Delacour!”

“It’s her!” Harry shouted, nudging Ron as the pretty Beauxbâtons student rose to her feet, shook back her silvery blonde hair, and made her way up the aisle between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, her expression and body language full of poise and confidence.

“Oh, look, they’re all disappointed,” Hermione commented airily, gesturing towards the shattered and upset Beauxbâtons students, whom seemed a bit put out that they hadn’t been chosen. Harry merely raised his eyebrow—was this tournament just that important that you’d go utterly barmy for not being chosen?

Once Fleur had vanished into the side chamber, the room fell silent once more—with the Hogwarts students being the most visibly on edge, eagerly awaiting the announcement of whom their champion would be.

“The Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore called as the next slip of paper fell into his hands, “is Cedric Diggory!”

The roar of applause and cheering from Hogwarts as a whole was nearly deafening, drowning out the acclamations of the previous champions. Harry could barely hear Ron’s prolific objection to a Hufflepuff being named Champion over the din.

The applause continued far longer than the previous two had, and it was only with a great deal of effort that Dumbledore was able to get it under control.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore said. “Well, we now have our three champions—I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbâtons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you’ll contribute in a very real—”

The Headmaster swallowed the remainder of his words as the Goblet had turned red again, sparking furiously. With another jolt, the goblet let out a burst of crimson fire, and another singed piece of parchment fluttered down from the ceiling.

Dumbledore snatched it out of the air and looked at the sheet of parchment with trepidation, as a look of confusion and bewilderment appeared on his face.

“For… the Salem Witches’ Academy… _Harry Potter?_ ” he said, confused.

“What,” Harry said aloud as everyone craned to face him. “Are you serious? Absolutely not.”

He jumped to his feet. “I didn’t put my name into this,” he protested, glaring at the Headmaster. “How on Earth could my name have been drawn—from a school for girls, no less?”

“It seems there has been a slight… error,” Dumbledore said, lamely, grimacing all the while. “All the same, my boy—please join the other Champions.”

“Fine,” Harry gritted out in annoyance. “But I’m going to say it once again—I didn’t put my bloody name in the Goblet.”

He walked up the silent aisle between the two tables, feeling dozens of eyes piercing through him. Dread began to pool in his stomach– images of second year and the Heir of Slytherin nonsense making their way back to the front of his mind. Being a pariah once again for things well outside of his control.

The dread hardened into resignation as he made his way into the adjourning chamber. As he stepped through the door, the three Champions, who were congregating by the fire, looked at him expectantly.

“What is it?” Fleur asked in her thick drawl. “Are they expecting us back in the main chamber?”

“No, unfortunately,” Harry said, dragging a hand through his hair. “Someone’s trying to do me in. I thought I could get off for a year, what with all this going on. Thought maybe the Age Line would keep me from getting involved. It seems my faith was entirely misplaced.”

“What do you mean?” Cedric asked, one of his eyebrows raised in question.

“Someone put my name into the Goblet of Fire under the Salem Witches’ Academy. You know, an all-girls school. In America,” Harry said, gesturing vaguely at the door he had entered.

“What?!” The three chorused in surprise, anguish and, Harry thought, maybe a bit of anger.

Suddenly, there were more people in the room as Ludo Bagman swept in, followed by the headmasters of the schools, McGonagall, Snape and some others.

“Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary!” Bagman proclaimed with a bright grin.

“How on Earth could it be extraordinary?” Harry asked scathingly as he glared at the adults entering the room. “I would like to know how my name ended up in the Goblet of Fire for a school I’ve heard of only in passing before today.”

“That is a question I would like answered as well,” said the Beauxbâtons Headmistress.

“It’s clear the boy cheated,” Igor Karkaroff said with a scoff. “Boy wanted glory so he thought he’d cheat his way in.”

“I have all the glory I want and need, thank you. It’s my name that’s in all the history books for taking a killing curse to the head. I don’t need ‘Participated in deadly, stupid tournament’ to add to my pedigree,” Harry snarked back at the Durmstrang headmaster.

“Arrogant, just like his father,” Severus Snape said with a disbelieving snort.

Harry pointedly ignored the Potions professor’s snide comment, refusing to dignify the man with a look.

“Harry, you’re certain you did not enter your name in the Goblet?” Dumbledore asked curiously, looking at Harry over his spectacles.

“No, Professor. Why on Earth would I ever want to lie about that sort of thing? I get into enough accidental trouble at Hogwarts without intentionally putting my name into a death tournament. Has everyone forgotten the last three years of my life, or am I merely hallucinating?”

“Be that as it may,” Bartemius Crouch said with a sniff. “Your name was drawn, boy. You’ll have to compete.”

“How can that be fair?” Fleur protested. “He’s only a child!”

Harry glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What,” she said, frowning. “It is true—you are only fourteen, are you not? It is unfair for you to be forced to participate in something designed for seventeen year olds.”

Harry was rather surprised to see the French girl coming to his defence.

“I couldn’t agree more—are you certain there is no way to let the boy out of this contract?” the Beauxbâtons headmistress asked, folding her arms.

“No,” Crouch said. “The Goblet’s gone dormant for at least five years. There is no way to relight it until the Tournament has concluded and the waiting period has elapsed to convene another tournament. Mister Potter is required to compete or forfeit his magic.”

“Do you all really believe this boy’s outlandish claims?” Karkaroff protested.

“Mister Potter has never given me reason to believe him a perpetual liar,” Professor McGonagall said, giving Karkaroff a death glare. “In the last four years he has attended Hogwarts, he has exemplified the very virtues that Gryffindor believes in, I have never known him to _lie_ about this sort of thing.”

“Aye, and you all sort of brought it upon yourself,” came the gruff voice of Mad-Eye Moody, who hobbled into the room on his peg leg. “What Death Eater wouldn’t want to use this tournament as an excuse to knock off the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Moody glanced at Karkaroff and Snape. “Maybe I should be shovin’ some Veritaserum down both your throats just to see how deep your loyalties to your dead master are.”

“That’s unnecessary, Alastor,” Dumbledore admonished him. “Though I suppose you have a point about it painting an unnecessary target on young Harry.”

“Potter’s a high-profile target. You should’ve set the parameters to ban Potter from being entered at all, even if he had somehow gotten past the Age Line—which I doubt he could’ve.”

“I wouldn’t want to anyway,” Harry said again, frowning. “It gets a bit irritating, you know, people gawking at my scar and being envious of the fact my parents are dead.”

It was hard to not sound bitter at the end—he knew people looked to him and his scar as a sort of symbol of hope and victory, but all he could see is all the grief and pain it had caused him.

“Be that as it may,” Dumbledore said softly. “I believe there is very little alternative than to simply allow Harry to compete.”

There was silence in the room at this pronouncement, before Madam Maxime nodded.

“As much as I don’t wish to agree, I believe I must—let the boy compete. Though, I believe there may be some rules and regulations he will be obligated to follow, which will be complicated by the fact he is still technically enrolled here.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, before Bagman coughed.

“Well, now that we’ve got everything sorted—shall we crack on? Barty, go ahead—give our champions their task,” Bagman said with a gesture.

“Yes, right,” Crouch said with a sneer. “The first task is designed to test your reasoning. We are not going to be telling you exactly what it is, but I can tell you that it will involve flying. The first task will be on November 26th, at mid-day, in front of the other students, visiting ticket-holders, and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to accept any extra help from their professors outside of the remit of their classes—and will face the first challenge with the tools given to them. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the challenge, all champions are exempt from end-of-year exams.”

As they broke up, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Harry, I believe we may need to speak further about this matter. I will have Professor McGonagall collect you when that conversation is necessary. In the meantime, I expect the two of you to head back to your common rooms. I’m sure yours and Mister Diggory’s respective houses are ready to party, and I would be remiss if I denied them such an opportunity.”

Cedric and Harry left together, with Cedric occasionally glancing at Harry. “So, seems we’re playing against each other again,” he said with only a hint of something in his voice that Harry couldn’t quite pick up.

Harry couldn’t help but snort. “I’d rather we not be, but yeah, I suppose,” he said glumly.

“So you really didn’t put your name in, did you?” Cedric asked, giving Harry a rather sharp look– as if he was trying to decode something important.

“Bloody hell, no. I might be a bit daft at times, but I’m not that daft,” Harry insisted. “You know exactly the kind of nonsense I’ve gotten into in the last three years. I really wanted this year to be… easy. Seems I underestimated just how much fate really hates me.”

Cedric patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Harry,” he said with an understanding nod. “You’ll do fine. You know, there are rumours you killed a basilisk when you were twelve. If that’s even remotely true…”

“It is,” Harry said, rolling up his sleeve to show the massive scar on his arm where the basilisk fang had punctured him. “Nearly died before Dumbledore’s phoenix saved me.”

“Blimey, maybe you are qualified to participate in this tournament,” Cedric murmured. “I’ll keep Hufflepuff in line, then? See you around, Harry.”

Harry watched him disappear down the stone steps towards the Hufflepuff common room, while Harry trudged, alone, up to Gryffindor tower. His thoughts were consumed with many depressing things—mostly centred on the fact someone was trying to kill him. Though, that wasn’t exactly unusual or new. First year it was Quirrellmort trying to do him in, second year he faced down a sixty-foot basilisk, third year it was Pettigrew, and now it was someone who thought it a good lark to put his name into the Goblet.

As soon as he’d stepped in the Gryffindor common room, he’d been assaulted with cheering and celebration. It was loud and unbelievably chaotic. It was surprising seeing just how many people were willing to party through the night when they had class in the morning—after all, it was only Monday.

Despite open protestation, everyone seemed willing to disregard anything he said on the subject and were more than happy to presume that he was a glory-thief. It made him nauseous, and with it, he ignored everyone’s raucous cheering and pushed his way up to the fourth-year male dormitory.

At the top of the stairs, he angrily crumpled up the Gryffindor banner Lee Jordan had draped around his shoulders and shoved it into the wastebasket by his bed. He furiously kicked his trunk and swore loudly, before dropping into his bed with a groan.

Someone coughing made him look up and realize he wasn’t alone. Ron was seated in his bed, looking at him strangely.

“You didn’t do it, did you?” Ron asked quietly.

“No, of course not, Ron,” Harry muttered. “After a possessed professor, a basilisk and my parents’ betrayer, I’m kind of tired, you know? I thought maybe I’d use this year to catch up on my sleep… is that why you’re here? Did you really think I did it?”

“I didn’t know what to think, Harry,” Ron said, frowning.

“You know me, Ron. Have I ever given any indication that I enjoy being famous? Or having notoriety?” Harry asked, incredulously.

“No, I suppose not,” Ron said, closing his eyes. “Hermione told me I was being kind of thick about it. I s’pose I owe her an apology. You doing okay, though?”

“As good as I can be with someone actively trying to kill me, but that’s just the price of doing business at Hogwarts, isn’t it?” Harry said sarcastically. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Ron said. “Me and Hermione will help you with whatever you need. I don’t care what anybody else says, you don’t have to go about this alone, mate.”

Harry gave Ron a grin, and this brightened the redhead up. “See, look at that—a genuine Harry Potter smile. We haven’t got many of those these days. You know, after all this, you should probably let Sirius know about what happened.”

“I should, but he’s been dragging his arse about sending letters back,” Harry said gruffly. “I suppose I should send one just to let him know not to bother coming up here. The last thing I need is for him to get caught. I’ll do it tomorrow, I guess. He hasn’t answered his mirror either. I don’t know why he gave me the bloody thing anyway, if he wasn’t going to answer it.”

…

The days that followed weren’t Harry’s favourite. Ron and Hermione had kept him company that morning, offering him toast and apple juice. In the classes they shared, they kept him somewhat insulated from the looks he was getting. However, given the fact that Hufflepuff’s stares seemed more out of pity rather than disdain, Harry felt marginally better about the whole affair than he otherwise would have.

His afternoon Divination class had him once again trying to figure out the strange art of scrying. Trelawney’s half-drunken ramblings made little to no sense, and so Harry traced his finger along the smooth surface of the crystal ball. His thoughts were so concerned about the tournament, Sirius and this Salem nonsense, that he barely noticed when the ball began to glow with a faint silver light.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, and Harry blinked in surprise as he looked down. In the ball’s silvery mist, he faintly made out the form of a very large silver dog—one that looked nothing like the grim he knew Sirius was. The dog was bounding towards a slumbering dragon, and behind the dog was a large soaring thunderbird. Both the animals looked… _mischievous_.

When it faded, Harry looked up at the class, who were all staring back at him.

“Something appeared to you, Mister Potter,” Trelawney said airily. “What did you see, lad?”

“I saw a tremendous fluffy dog and a thunderbird charging towards a dragon—a sleeping one.”

Trelawney nodded before moving on, providing some assurances that it was an indication of his coming death in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry wasn’t quite sure what the things he’d seen in the crystal ball meant. It occupied his thoughts as he made his way to the Owlery and penned a letter to Sirius, before attaching it and sending it off with Hedwig.

Harry was incredibly surprised and a little annoyed at his godfather when the return on his letter was merely a few hours, as his owl came fluttering back in at dinner time, preening proudly and presenting another letter.

> _Harry,_
> 
> _I appreciate you telling me about what happened. Keep your chin up, and you’ll hear from me again real soon._
> 
> _S._

It was annoyingly brief, and Harry’s eyes flickered with annoyance as he stuffed the parchment into his bag in frustration. Why did every adult in his life have to be so god damned cryptic all the bloody time? Would it kill one of them to be straightforward and _honest?_

And why, furthermore, was Sirius _in Britain again? Literally in Hogsmeade or somewhere close by?_ He’d left to recover from Azkaban, and now he was back? Did he have a bloody death-wish? Harry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked carefully, glancing at her friend with concern.

“Fine,” Harry lied. “Just… frustrated.”

“I can only imagine,” Hermione said with sympathy, before turning back to her dinner and book.

The following day, after dinner, Harry found himself being escorted by Professor McGonagall up to the Headmaster’s office.

Despite Harry’s hopes, Professor McGonagall didn’t explain why he was needed there, and he spent the climb stewing over what more could go wrong. Finally they reached the inner door at the top of the tower. Harry stepped through and blinked at who was in the room.

Two women—a tall, slim blonde woman with robes that looked _very_ expensive and well-tailored; and a second woman, shorter, but with long dark hair and a pair of very familiar grey eyes—Harry’s breath nearly hitched in his chest. _Sirius._

“Ah, Harry, good,” Dumbledore said sagely. “I should like to introduce you to Headmistress Vesta Spellman of Salem Witches’ Academy, and her advisor, Miss…”

“Alice White,” the clearly American woman replied with a smile. “It’s my pleasure, Mister Potter.”

“Hello,” Harry said stiffly, feeling weary about the woman who looked so much like his godfather. “Um, is this about…?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Dumbledore said with a nod.

“Harry, if I may call you that?” Vesta said quietly, smiling when Harry nodded. “It’s rather obvious you were caught up in a rather unfortunate set of circumstances,” she said. “However, this now brings us to the problem that you must uphold the honor and values of Salem Academy.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Vesta said with a nod. “I apologize for what I’m about to put you through, but I’m afraid it is unavoidable, given the rules of the Tournament. All champions are required to comply with their school’s policies, no matter if they are hosting or visiting. Since you are… to be Salem’s champion, this means you are subject to Salem’s rules.”

She pulled a small booklet out of her pocket. “The good news, Harry, is that most of the rules Salem follows are almost identical to that of Hogwarts, a result of our shared heritage between America and Britain. However, there are… other parts that you may find a little awkward, such as the compulsory dress code.”

“Dress code, so you mean I have to-”

“Yes, unfortunately. Never has a man attended Salem Academy, and as much as I understand this was not your intent,” Vesta said. “You are… obligated by tournament rules, and by the code of Salem Academy, to wear the proper uniform during class hours.”

“This is humiliating,” Harry murmured, the months of being a pariah during second year coming back to him like a punch in the gut. “They’re all going to laugh at me more than they already are. It’s not enough I have to nearly get myself killed, you want me to walk around _in a skirt?!_ ”

Vesta frowned. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, Harry. I’m sorry. If there… if there was something I could do, I would, but uniform exemptions are even beyond my authority as Headmistress. I answer to the Educational Council, and they are very strict about certain things– including uniforms.”

She sighed and shook her head.

“If it is any consolation at all,” she said gently. “We have witches at Salem who are currently… transitioning, and so believe me when I say; we’re not blind to the struggles of people with bodies like yours.”

Harry idly wondered what “transitioning” meant, but at the moment the horrors of wearing a skirt were a bit more important. He made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later– or even one of the Salem professors in front of him.

“There is more, however,” Vesta said apologetically. “You will have to… move out of your current dormitory and be moved to a special quarters for visiting students. I understand you are Gryffindor to the bone, but you are a Salem witch until the end of this year, and will be treated accordingly.”

“I’m being kicked out of Gryffindor?!” Harry exclaimed, looking shocked.

“No, no, absolutely not,” McGonagall interjected, shaking her head in order to stave off whatever the conclusion of Harry’s panic might be.

“Mister Potter…” McGonagall began, searching for the words to say. “Harry, these are just the things we have to do to comply with Tournament bylaws. You are still very much a lion, and that will not change. However, because of the rules of the tournament, your position as a visiting champion from Salem Academy takes precedence. We just have to put up with this legal fiction until the end of the Tournament as so to avoid any complications that may leave you a squib.”

“Indeed,” Vesta said with a nod. “However, I promise you will not be through this alone—my advisor, Alice, has agreed to stay at Hogwarts for the year to serve as your de-facto guardian. She’ll be your point of contact should you need any assistance at all.”

She took a deep breath.

“As well,” She continued. “Headmaster Dumbledore and I have… agreed that taking you out of your current social structure is not going to help matters at all, and so some of your fellow Gryffindors, your friends, can join you as Salem delegates until the end of the year. But make sure they are aware they will be held to the same uniform standards and code of conduct as you are.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “I understand why you may be upset at these matters, but we’re merely trying to avoid the worst case scenario.”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “I know you’re trying. It’s just… a lot to take in,” he said, hoarsely.

“There is one solution to the awkwardness of being a boy in a skirt,” Vesta said with a soft smile, before drawing a vial out of her coat pocket. “Do you know about the Tiresian Tonic, Harry?”

“No, um, ma’am,” Harry said.

“The Tiresian Tonic is a potion that allows for the user to change their sex,” she said, with a small satisfied look on her face. “When you drink this, should you choose to drink it, your body will turn into what you would have looked like if your mother had given birth to a girl, rather than a boy. Consider it a very specific form of Polyjuice, in a manner of speaking.”

“Oh,” Harry said flatly, glancing at the potion before shaking his head. “Um, I don’t think I want that. Being a boy in a skirt isn’t that bad, I guess.”

“We’ll escort you up to Gryffindor Tower,” McGonagall said quietly and calmly. “So you may gather your things and talk to any friends you may want to invite to join you.”

The walk to the Gryffindor common room was filled with an awful silence. No matter how much he tried, Harry couldn’t get rid of the terrible sense of dread pooling in his stomach and he couldn’t make himself relax.

When they arrived, the room full of students seemed to still at the sight of McGonagall, the Headmaster, and two strangers—and many eyes were on Harry as he climbed the stairs and disappeared.

“Professors, is something happening with Harry?” Hermione said, looking surprised. “You know for certain he didn’t put his name in, I don’t see why this deserves _expuls-_ ”

“Miss Granger, Harry is not being expelled. In fact,” Dumbledore said, raising his voice to carry to everyone in the common room. “Due to Tournament bylaws, which are completely out of Harry’s hands, he is required to sleep in separate quarters as a student of Salem Academy. If anybody wishes to join Harry and show solidarity with their friend, they may—but I do warn you that anybody who joins will be required to comply with Salem Academy rules. All of them,”

Hermione looked conflicted before she squared herself. “I volunteer, sir,” she said, with the same resolution as every single time she answered a question in class.

“Harry, where are you going with all your stuff, mate?” came a voice from the top of the male dorm stairs, and Harry emerged into the common room levitating his trunk and owl cage, tears brimming his eyes, Ron hot on his heels.

“Ron, stop, leave Harry be,” Hermione said, glancing between her two friends. “Professor Dumbledore just explained it. Because of the stupid tournament rules, Harry has to be a Salem student until the end of the tournament, meaning he has to live in separate quarters. Um, I’ll be joining him.”

“You are?” Ron asked, confusion flitting across his features.

“I don’t want Harry to face this alone, and if he can’t be here in Gryffindor, then I’ll go where he is and make sure he’s okay,” Hermione said firmly.

Ron nodded in understanding, before closing his eyes for a moment, before seeming to come to a decision. “I’m coming with you, too,” he said firmly.

“Ron, um, maybe you shouldn’t—if you join Harry, you’ll… you’ll have to wear a girl’s uniform,” Hermione said in a low voice.

Ron blinked in surprise, before realization dawned on him. “Salem’s a girl’s school,” he said faintly.

“Yeah,” Hermione said apologetically.

Ron furrowed his brow before shaking his head. “No, I’m not abandoning my friend. If Harry’s gotta go around Hogwarts in a skirt, then I’ll be right there with him. Bugger it all!” He proclaimed, moving to stand beside Harry.

“Ron,” Harry started, ready to veto his friend’s decision, and Ron shook his head vehemently.

“I promised I’d be there for you, mate. I’m not going to let something like that stop me,” Ron said, squaring his shoulders and folding his arms almost petulantly.

“The loyalty you show your best friend, Mister Weasley, is commendable,” Dumbledore said warmly as he gently waved his hands and made Harry’s belongings vanish with a pop. “Is there anybody else who wishes to join Mister Potter, Miss Granger and Mister Weasley?”

“Yeah, we’ll join,” Parvati said, causing everyone to look at her and Lavender Brown, who had their hands up. “Frankly, the idea of letting Potter and Weasley loose in this school in skirts with their deplorable fashion sense is terrifying. If they’re supposed to exemplify Gryffindor _and Salem_ , we may as well help.”

“Are you certain, Miss Patil?” McGonagall asked with her eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Parvati said, flashing Harry a bright smile. “We’ll keep Potter from looking too much like a drowned rat.”

“Oi,” Harry said, blushing. “I’m not that bad.”

“Have you seen the things you wear on the weekends? Worn, faded, stretched? Any of that ring a bell?” Parvati said slyly.

“Well,” Harry said, face heating, whether out of embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t clearly define. “It was either that or not get any clothes at all.” He grabbed his things and stormed out of the common room in a huff, the bitterness of his words lingering in the air like stale rot.

Parvati winced slightly. “I was just… trying to tease him, a little bit,” she said with a grimace.

Ron frowned. “Don’t poke fun at his home life. Trust me, it isn’t that funny,” he said in a low voice, earning solemn nods of agreement from Fred and George in the corner.

McGonagall shot Dumbledore an icy, dreadful glare that promised all sorts of pain later– a sentiment that seemed to be echoed by Vesta and Alice, who were giving Dumbledore glares of their own.

“You’ll have to explain exactly what you mean by that, Mister Weasley,” McGonagall said tightly.

“Only if Harry says it is okay, I’m not going to sell off what was told to me in confidence,” he said firmly. “Can we go to our new room now, please? This conversation is getting awkward.”

…

The party of teachers and students alike came to a stop on the ground floor—in front of a large portrait of a woman, one Harry did not recognize.

She was dark-skinned—though she looked more like Hermione than Harry. The woman in question was seated at a large mahogany desk, a pink-and-purple quill floating next to her, and a small leather-bound book open as well. The woman had warm eyes, and a soft smile on her face.

“Harry, everyone, I should like to introduce you to Eliza Greenwich—the first Black headmistress of Salem,” Vesta said proudly. “Her portraits will be temporarily on loan to Hogwarts during the duration of the tournament.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Eliza said, nodding her head, and flashing a dazzling smile.

She looked at Harry carefully. “You must be the young Potter that will be representing our school. I hope you do us good, child—Salem has long cherished its reputation as the premier school in the United States,” she said, before scoffing. “Though those arrogant braggarts at Ilvermony would claim otherwise. Do a good job, would you?”

“I intend to do my best, ma’am,” Harry said quietly.

“Good,” Eliza said with a nod. “Well, would you like to set a password?”

“Padfoot,” Harry said, a slight smile crossing his face.

“Password accepted, welcome,” she said, as she swung in, revealing a comfortable, carpeted common room, and six doors, leading to various bedrooms.

“It should be rather self-explanatory,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Each room is your own private quarters, with the double-doored one being for Madame White. You may sit with any house you wish at meal times—but during any feasts, you must all sit with one house to be determined by your advisor. Should you require anything specific, Hogwarts’ house elves will do their best to assist you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry murmured, before stepping through the porthole.

His trunk and Hedwig’s cage, along with his new room-mates’ personal belongings had been placed in the necessary places already. Harry idly wondered how Dumbledore was able to do that sort of thing.

With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjured six nameplates which appeared on each door, marked with the first initial and last name of each person.

The Headmaster, Headmistress and Deputy Headmistress soon departed, leaving Alice by herself to look at the five students with her.

After a beat of silence, Harry cleared his throat. “Professor White—you know, you look remarkably familiar,” Harry said slyly. “Do you have a brother, perchance?”

“Yes, she does look familiar doesn’t she?” Hermione said, smirking. “Whenever I see her, I almost… want to get up to no good.”

“Manage my mischief,” Ron said with a sniff.

“Is it that obvious?” Alice said, folding her arms. “Here I thought myself clever.”

“It is when it’s only been a few months since I last saw you,” Harry said with a snort.

“Harry, you know her?” Parvati asked, confused. “What’s with the word play?”

“Where to begin,” Harry mused. “So, remember last year how we had Dementors all over the grounds because Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban, and you remember how apparently he got caught and then escaped again?”

Parvati and Lavender both nodded—the escape of Sirius Black from Hogwarts had been much publicized, with many theories floating around, some blaming Harry for it, though Harry had an ironclad alibi of having been in the Hospital Wing, which was locked tightly, all night. Dumbledore had even backed up such a claim.

“My family had a rat for like, twelve years—Scabbers, I’m sure you’ve seen him before. Turns out he was an Animagus,” Ron said, grimacing.

“Your rat was an Animagus?” Parvati said, eyes wide. “You mean…”

“For years, a rat was sleeping in Gryffindor Tower—first with Percy, then with me. Well, the rat’s name was Peter Pettigrew.”

“Pettigrew, I’ve heard that name before,” Lavender said, tapping her finger to her chin. “Wasn’t he the bloke that Sirius Black killed?”

“No,” Harry said. “Well, that’s the _story_ , but no. Pettigrew is very much alive, and is the real traitor. He was my parents’ Secret-Keeper and sold them to Voldemort. When the Weasleys won the Galleon Draw back last year, the news reported on it.”

“When I saw that rat on the front-page, I knew I had to keep Harry from being hurt. I was a bit delirious, but what can you expect, being locked in a jail-cell for eleven years,” Alice said, smirking with her bright grey eyes.

“Wait, _you’re Sirius Black?_ ” Lavender screeched.

“At the moment, I’m Alice White, but I was brought into this world as Sirius Black, yes,” Alice said. “I’ll take a magical oath if you’d like that everything else you’ve been told so far about me is true. I am actually a registered employee of Salem Academy—I’m a Potions tutor and special advisor to the Headmistress.”

“How on Earth did you get that kind of a job?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Vesta is an old friend of mine from back in the day,” Alice said with a wry grin, not answering anything further on that line of questioning.

“Is this why you’ve been so slow to respond to my letters, and haven’t been answering the mirror?” Harry asked, frowning at his godfather.

“Unfortunately,” Alice said quietly. “Getting settled in Salem, and then establishing a concrete identity has taken up so much of my time. I’m really sorry, Harry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, though nobody in the room believed him, given the hurt expression on his face.

“Now, slipping back into my role as guardian for all of you this year—I’m sure we’ll all get along swimmingly. If there are any issues, please let me know, and I’ll take care of it. You’ll have your new uniforms delivered to you in the morning; the house elves are quite good at taking measurements. Additionally—one of the benefits of being a Salem student for this year is that I have the right to assume stewardship of some of your classes.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Meaning, starting tomorrow, you’ll no longer be required to take Professor Snape’s Potions class,” Alice said, flashing a grin.

The cheers were nearly deafening, and Alice had to wiggle her finger in her ear to get the ringing to stop after she’d finally managed to settle everyone down.

“I knew you’d be over the moon about that one,” Alice said with a grin. “Also: Divination. I’ll be taking over the class for those of you who still have it—which is all of you except for Hermione, correct?”

There were nods, and Alice smiled, before looking at Hermione. “If you want to sit in on some of our lessons, you’re more than welcome to—I know you’re a sceptic but there is more to Divination than that half-boozed woman gives you. Remus told me a bit about what she was teaching last year, and I can’t blame you at all for walking out, Hermione. Divining the future isn’t an exact science, because it isn’t science at all, actually!” she said.

“I’ll think about it,” Hermione said, smiling wanly.

“Now, I’ve met the Golden Trio,” Alice said with a grin, earning groans and blushes from Hermione, Harry and Ron. “But might I have the pleasure of knowing you two?” she asked, directing a look at Parvati and Lavender.

“Parvati Patil,” Parvati said, curtseying slightly.

“Lavender Brown,” Lavender said, following suit.

“So formal! Come ladies, let’s get to know each other better. I’ll have the elves bring us some refreshments. We’re stuck together for the next nine months, we may as well learn to be friends,” Alice said brightly, grinning ear to ear.

Harry watched as his godfather-slash-godmother lead them to the comfortable coffee table and couches arranged around the fireplace. The portrait hanging above the mantle was labeled Casimir Pulaski. Just below that, the label explained that the man was apparently of some note to the Americans, having served as a cavalry expert for the nascent Continental Army.

“You know,” Alice said, glancing up at the portrait on the mantle. “Originally, it was suggested to stick Winston Churchill up there—you know, he was a famous warlock from Britain, but with an American mother and so it was going to be some kind of bridge between the two nations, however… I believe James would haunt me if I ever put that man in any sort of position of respect.”

“Why?” Harry asked carefully, eyebrow raised.

“The Potters have had a fairly long-standing grudge with the Churchill family since the time of your great-grandfather,” Alice said, suddenly very serious. “Nobody’s told you much about your family heritage, have they?”

“No,” Harry admitted, grimacing.

“Well, I’ll have to fix that—come along, children! Let’s hear the story of how Antioch Potter pledged his wand to the extinction of the Churchill family and all those who sided with them,” Alice said brightly, leading the students over to the couches.

“Now, have any of you heard of this feud before?”

Parvati gently raised her hand.

“How did you hear of it, Parvati?” Alice asked.

“Well,” Parvati began. “The Patil family has always had strong ties to both India and Britain, just as the Potters have. Antioch Potter was a well-travelled warlock, inventor of several potions we use in our everyday lives, but he was still very much a man of our country. I don’t know the exact reason, but sometime in the late 19th century, Antioch Potter called a blood feud against Randolph Churchill after the man made some… rather coloured remarks in the Wizengamot. It wasn’t helped that one of Antioch’s nephews was denied the right to become an Auror; the Ministry was, and still is, very rooted in their racial biases.”

“You’re correct—Antioch’s nephew, whose name eludes me, the last time this story was told to me was close to twenty years ago. Anyway—said nephew was an aspiring young warlock. He wanted to be an Auror, and you know, he had the right connections and all—Antioch Potter was a very well-regarded potioneer, and his wife was an equally well-known charms mistress. It’s how the Potter fortune nearly quadrupled in his lifespan. However, despite them being purebloods, wizards and witches going back longer than English civilization could ever hope to be, Antioch’s nephew was rejected for being Indian. Antioch made blustering demands in the Wizengamot, but Churchill rallied his own faction and stonewalled Antioch, while making some very disparaging remarks towards him, his wife, and the paternity of his eldest son, Charlus.”

“My grandfather,” Harry said.

“Correct,” Alice said, with a nod. “Antioch and Rudolph continued to hate each other well into their old age, with Charlus and Rudolph’s son, Winston, taking up the mantle. It was worse after the Bengal famine.”

“I’ve read about that,” Hermione piped in, flushing. “There was a famine in India during World War II; over three million people died. Are you saying that was part of their blood feud?”

“No, not even a Churchill would be that depraved—but I do think that the long-standing hatred between the two families definitely contributed to Winston’s callousness towards Indians as a whole,” Alice said, sneering slightly. “I believe Charlus was very happy when he finally got the drop on ol’ Winnie. Too bad the man’s a venerable saint in the eyes of most of the fucking island.”

“Wait, my grandfather killed Winston Churchill?” Harry asked, dumbfounded.

Alice nodded. “Well, after Churchill pegged him with an infertility curse, he hadn’t a choice. It was either kill the bastard, or let the Potters die out with him—particularly after that little shit Jack Churchill wiped out that one nephew’s family. Charlus couldn’t get him, he died naturally in the ’40s.”

“But Churchill died in 1964,” Hermione said. “You would’ve been close to five years older than Harry’s father, but you said you were all mates in school.”

“Ah, well, you can thank Dorea Potter—formerly Black—for that one,” Alice said smugly. “It took enough potions and charms and desperate blood rituals to bypass the curse long enough to get her pregnant, but it took. From her own words, it was like hell on Earth. There’s a reason, even after Charlus did in the old bastard, they still never had another kid.”

“From there,” Alice said with a shrug. “There aren’t any wixen left in that family lineage that I’m aware of. Charlus checked—his eldest daughter married a Muggle, died before dearest dad did, all of her kids were squibs. All of the last scions of the Churchill family, to some degree or another, ended up leaving the wizarding world all-together, having their memories blanked out in the process. Squib rights were still barbaric, even these days they’re a bit crooked.”

“And then you people wonder why Muggleborns just spring into existence. Honestly,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Everyone laughed a bit at that, before Harry rubbed his cheek and looked at Alice.

“So, um, my great-grandfather was a potioneer? And his wife was a charms mistress?”

“Indeed,” Alice said, brightening. “Have any of you lovely kids used Sleekeazy’s Fantastic Follicle Fortifier? That was one of Antioch’s inventions. I’m told that he got tired of dealing with his _impossible_ hair and decided to come up with something that would tame it. Honestly, the Potters come from a long lineage of potioneering geniuses. It was one of the things that made your mother such a catch for them, she was a talent at it, so was James.”

“Must’ve skipped a generation,” Harry muttered, frowning deeply and retreating a bit into himself.

“Your teacher was Snivellus Snape,” Alice said, disdain clear in her voice. “That berk could have a fool-proof recipe for a quick and easy Felix Felicis—and he’d still be incapable of teaching students. There’s a reason he was never a Potions tutor back in the day.”

Alice placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, and smiled at him. “You’re not beholden to your family legacy to become a famous potioneer, Harry. Your namesake and great-great-grandfather, Antioch’s old man, Henry—he was a politician and never dabbled in potioneering past his NEWTs.”

“Henry Potter was very vocal in his support for the Entente during the First World War,” Hermione chimed in. “I read about it in…”

“Eupraxia Mole’s _The Great War_ ,” Ron said. “It’s pretty much the only book that covers the Muggle side of the conflict from our perspective in any detail.”

Everyone looked at Ron as if he’d grown a second head, and the boy flushed red. “Just because I don’t like reading much doesn’t mean I don’t read at all,” he said, looking away. “Henry Potter caused a controversy when he publicly castigated Archer Evermonde for prohibiting mages from entering the conflict. It’s the reason why the Potters aren’t in the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“The Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Ron said, sighing deeply. “It’s from this book, called the _Pureblood Directory_ , published just before the Grindelwald War. Twenty-eight pureblood families who were considered by the anonymous author to be on the ‘right side’ of the blood purity debate. Do you know why Malfoy calls me a blood traitor?”

“No—I presumed it had something to do with the fact you’re friends with Hermione,” Harry said.

“Yeah, sorta,” Ron said, frowning. “The Weasleys were the twenty-seventh family in the directory. My grandfather was so angry when they printed that list, and made a loud pronouncement before the entire Wizengamot that he was a proud lover of Muggles, and was proud of the fact he had Muggles in his family tree. The purebloods excluded him after that. Dad told me that after that, the animal husbandry business Granddad ran dried up and they ended up nearly destitute. The only thing that kept us from running out of money was the dowries our family had gotten from the Black and Prewett families, at least until Dad got his job with the Ministry. We’ve never been wealthy, but Mum and Dad make it work.”

“Your grandmother was a Black?” Alice asked, eyebrow raised.

“Cedrella Weasley,” Ron said flatly.

“Ah, I think I’ve heard my mother complain about her more than once,” Alice said, face darkening at the mention of her mother.

“You’ve never said anything about this,” Harry said, leaning forward towards his friend. “I… is this why you’re so tetchy about money?”

Ron shifted and looked a bit uncomfortable. “That’s part of it. Dad and Mum both taught us that we’re still worthy of respect, regardless of how much gold we have in our vaults, and that we shouldn’t just accept people’s pity.”

“Ron, I don’t… _pity you?_ ” Harry said, frowning. “You were one of my first friends. I didn’t grow up with much, other than some worn-out hand-me-downs and some bruises and scars. It was a terrible shock for me when I walked into my vault at Gringotts and found a literal mountain of gold. You’re a git sometimes, but I know you’re a good person, and that you care—look at how far you’ve come with Hermione, and well… not many other people would’ve stolen their Dad’s car, flown to Surrey with their brothers, and pulled bars off my window.”

“ _Bars on your window?_ ” Alice hissed, joined by shocked exclamations from the other kids.

“Did I never mention that?” Harry asked weakly. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

Alice took a deep breath. “I’m going to string that old man up by his beard, if he _knew anything_ about this.”

“I don’t think he does,” Harry said weakly. “The Dursleys are very careful. It’s not nearly as bad after I blew up Aunt Marge just after you got out of Azkaban. They still lock me up and feed me through a cat flap, but you know, it’s marginally better than a beating.”

Harry sighed and stood up. “I’m sorry, I think I’m going to turn in to bed now,” he ground out, not trusting himself to not get angry right now. “Good night.”

With that, Harry went to the door marked _H. POTTER_ , entered the room, and closed the door behind him with a little force that left everyone in the living room feeling a little sad.

“I think we may have gotten into topics that were a little heavy for one evening,” Alice said. “I think I owe Harry an apology—and I owe one to you too, Ron. You shouldn’t have felt compelled to talk about such painful things. Sometimes I get caught up in connecting with him.”

“It’s okay,” Ron said, with a small sigh. “It felt good to get some of that off my chest, anyway. Harry’ll be okay, let’s just give him some space tonight.”

“Yeah, we’ll cheer him up in the morning,” Hermione said with a nod.

“Was his home life really that bad?” Parvati asked, looking concerned.

“He’s never told anybody the full story, but given the fact they were willing to put bars on his window…” Hermione said, trailing off, leaving the point open and vague.

“Enough,” Ron interjected, flushing red again. “Leave off it. At least for now.”

The night ended awkwardly, with each person retreating to their room, introspective and concerned about the developments at hand.

Alice—for her part, felt the worst. She had been stupid, _so bloody stupid_ and had condemned her godson to so many years of abuse, just like she’d been subject to under the roof of Orion and Walburga. Sighing to herself, she rubbed the bridge of her nose. For the next year, she was in a terrific position to help Harry where he needed help. To do anything less, to not treat any of his concerns as one-hundred percent valid, would be a disservice not just herself, but everything she stood for.

Ron wasn’t in a great state either. He kept revisiting the night he and his brothers rescued Harry in his head, and his own insecurities. It gnawed into his stomach, making him feel quite nauseous.

All in all, not a single member of their group slept well that evening.


	2. I’ll Defy the Laws of Nature and Come Out Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry adjusts to the new reality of wearing a skirt, and is introduced to crackerjack journalist Rita Skeeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "Seven Seas of Rhye" by Queen, 1973

Harry’s brief flirt with sleep came to a crashing end when he found himself being summarily woken up just before dawn by an apologetic Dobby.

“Pardon, I do deeply apologise, Master Harry,” the house elf said wryly, bowing deeply. “But Mistress Alice has bid request Dobby awaken all her students. She asks everyone dress with celerity and meet in the common room. You can find your uniform in the wardrobe.”

Harry merely stared at Dobby for a few seconds before nodding and rubbing his eyes, feeling around for his glasses. “Thanks, Dobby, I guess.”

“I will be making sure you have your favourite foods for breakfast, Master Harry,” Dobby said wisely. “Do you require any further assistance from myself?”

“No, uh, Dobby– why are you talking so weird? When did you learn how to use pronouns?” Harry asked, his confusion not lessening.

“’Tis be the bonding magic, Master Harry,” Dobby said softly. “It has influence on how we speak and behave. Is that all, sire?”

“Um, yes, thank you. I appreciate all your help,” Harry said, and Dobby popped out of existence again, leaving a confused Harry in his wake.

Harry sat there for another minute or so before shaking his head and adjourning to the bathroom attached to his small bedroom. Enjoying his brief time in the hot water without other boys waiting in line to get in, he was able to take the time to let his mind wander freely—and get the stress to melt off his back.

He needed this, because if he had to think much more about all the things he was dealing with right now, he might go absolutely barmy.

After finishing up in the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded into the bedroom and looked at the wardrobe warily, like it might spring to life and consume him. Popping the doors open, he found a pair of briefs (new ones, not the worn-out boxers that had been handed down to him from Dudley), along with the whole of his uniform for the day.

Picking up the bundle of clothes and setting it down on his bed, he undid the string keeping the bundle tied together and set everything out and observed it.

A dark-grey jacket with a folded, burnt-orange lapel—on the right arm of the jacket was a patch of a black cat on a broomstick with S.W.A. emblazoned above it, and below that patch was a second patch that had nine pips on it, arranged in two rows.

A similarly-coloured dark grey cap sat upon it.

A white blouse was laid next to it, with long sleeves. On top of the blouse was a burnt-orange tie that matched the lapel of the jacket and the skirt that was sitting there… _menacingly_.

Next to that was a pair of long white socks, and a pair of black shoes. The shoes themselves weren’t too overtly offensive to Harry—they looked sort of like rather basic dress shoes, even if they were slightly heeled.

Sighing to himself, he slowly went about his business of preparing for the day. Putting on each item of his uniform was a new, unique, and rather annoying experience, but it wasn’t nearly as offensive as he had thought it would be.

When he had finished buttoning the golden clasps of his jacket, he peered at himself in the mirror. Other than the absolute chaos of his hair, he felt he looked good. He looked almost like he was enlisted in the military, and wondered if that wasn’t an intentional effect of the uniform. The jacket fit him well, as did the skirt, which fell to just below his knees. The knee-high socks were apparently charmed; normally the cold stone of Hogwarts’s floors left his feet feeling numb, but now, his feet felt warm and toasty.

A knock on his door broke his self-admiration, and gave it a glance, before sighing. Time to face the music.

“Come in,” he said, reaching down to adjust his tie.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Parvati said, poking her head in. “I know you’re not used to things like blouses.”

“I think I did an okay job,” Harry said, glancing back at Parvati. “What do you think?” He turned to face her, stuck his arms out and gestured vaguely at himself.

“I think you look good,” she said with a nod, before her eyes shot up to his head. “Your hair is a right mess though. Do you just never brush it, or something?”

Harry’s face heated in embarrassment before he snatched the cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair. “My hair has a mind of its own, no matter what I do,” he muttered.

“Hmm,” Parvati said. “Have you ever used Sleekeazy’s? It’s like, um, Alice said, it’d be dead useful in managing all that. Here, come over to my room, I’ve got a jar of it you can use.”

Harry followed her through the still empty living room—her room wasn’t much different than his, except for the few personal affects littered around. Parvati walked over to a table and mirror in the corner of the room and grabbed a large jar of something.

She grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him into her bathroom. For the next… however long, Harry wasn’t sure, she rubbed some of that strange, but pleasant-smelling goo in his hair.

“Hmm,” she said. “Have you given much thought to how long your hair is?”

“I mean, I guess,” Harry said. “I’ve been growing it out a lot mostly to piss off my aunt.”

“It’s in that awkward stage between long and short, and it’s going to be a bloody annoyance to sort. Would you mind if I made it a bit longer?” Parvati asked carefully.

Harry blinked. “Hmm. Alright. It’s just hair, after all. If I don’t like it I can just cut it off.”

“That’s the spirit,” Parvati said, flashing a bright grin. She drew her wand and began to wave it over the top of his head in a mix of motions. After a few minutes of that plus additional fussing with that pleasant smelling goo, she stopped and gently clapped her hands on his shoulders.

“Ah-ha! There you go—goodness, you look quite good, Harry,” Parvati said.

Harry glanced in Parvati’s bathroom mirror and let out a ‘huh’. She was grinning like a fool, but he was still himself, though now he had a long braid running from the back of his head, woven in a way that shone quite nicely in the light. The rest of his hair had been managed and looked far less chaotic than it usually did, for which he was thankful.

“It’s quite a bit longer, isn’t it?” Harry asked wryly, gently playing with his new braid. He smiled in spite of himself, not feeling certain about what he should be feeling right now.

“Only slightly,” Parvati said with a wry grin of her own. “Your hair looks much better now. I think the braid and the uniform go well together.”

“Um, thanks!” Harry said, blushing from her earnest compliment.

“Parvati, have you finished checking in with Potter?” Lavender’s voice came from the bedroom, and Parvati rolled her eyes.

“He’s right here, Lav– don’t be so impersonal, particularly since we volunteered to stand by his side. His name’s Harry,” she reprimanded her friend, glaring at her.

“Right, sorry Harry,” Lavender said apologetically, softly smiling at him. “Ron is such a mess,” she complained, plopping down on Parvati’s bed and giving them a put-upon pout.

“What’d he do?” Harry asked, wondering if he’d have to go cuff his best mate into behaving himself.

“Oh, it’s all the small things, like his hair, the way he had his skirt on and all sorts of other things—I got him sorted, though. He’s a bit of a slob, isn’t he?”

“Just a bit, I think it comes from being the seventh kid in a family. Also, his snores could clear a forest. Thank God for silencing charms,” Harry said with a grin. “Shall we?”

Once they’d all marched into the living room, Alice was already waiting, grinning ear to ear. “You all look wonderful! Ah, the elves did a wonderful job.”

“I’m surprised Salem Academy uses military-style uniforms,” Hermione commented idly, picking at her jacket with her nails.

“They updated the uniforms during the 1940s—before that, they used the same uniforms for close to three centuries. I’d rather run around in a women’s army corps uniform than look like I stepped off the Mayflower,” Alice said with a snort.

“I saw Goody Proctor with the devil,” Hermione said conspiratorially, grinning.

Everyone looked at her strangely, and her cheeks turned slightly pink as she looked away in embarrassment.

“It’s from _The Crucible_ , a play by a Muggle playwright, Arthur Miller. It’s about the Salem Witch Trials… or the Red Scare, depending on what context you’re looking for,” she explained.

“Sometimes I forget that those sorts of things are part of Muggle history,” Alice said wryly. “Though I guess they’re good reminders of why the Statute exists– as useless as it might otherwise be.”

…

As they prepared to head down to breakfast together, Harry grabbed Ron, dragged him over to a corner of the room, and took a deep breath.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “For volunteering to join me, and for putting yourself in a position where you’re going to get made fun of for wearing a skirt.”

“Don’t mention it, mate,” Ron said with a sympathetic pat to Harry’s arm.

“We’re just going to have to ignore Malfoy, you know that, right?” Harry asked. “I don’t want to get Sirius in trouble with Dumbledore or the Salem headmistress.”

“I know,” Ron said with a nod. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll keep it all together. Malfoy’s a ponce, but there’s more important things to worry about– like food, for instance! C’mon. I’m hungry, let’s go.”

“Do you always let your stomach dictate your thinking?” Harry asked with a grin on his face.

“Only always,” Ron responded, beaming brightly.

…

Other than the fact they were all wearing uniforms of a foreign school, it was almost like business as usual as the five of them settled down at the Gryffindor table, ignoring the various eyes marking them with appraisal.

The only major difference from their usual procedure was the unusual presence of Alice, who settled into the seat next to Harry, flashing her young godson a reassuring smile.

“I figure you could use some support today,” she said conspiratorially, her voice low enough to where only Harry could hear. “I won’t hang around every day, but you know– gotta do my job and keep you safe.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured. “I appreciate it.”

Before Harry could serve himself, his empty plate was suddenly swapped out with a full plate of his favourite breakfasts. Blinking in surprise, he smiled.

Dobby was very thorough in making sure he had everything he liked, didn’t he?

Owing to his upbringing on Privet Drive, Harry was hardly ever given the right to taste the fruits of his labour—where the Dursleys would eat decadent black puddings, thick bacon, and other things like it; Harry as a child got expired bread and margarine sandwiches, and as he’d gotten older, those meals typically consisted of stale crackers and cold soup instead.

At Hogwarts, however, Harry’s palate had permission to run a little more freely. He could have buttery scones, delicious porridge, among other things—occasionally he would even opt for bacon or kippers with his breakfast, but he wasn’t much of a meat-eater. Years of malnutrition meant that red meats and very hearty foods had a tendency to cause more problems than they solved.

So, today’s breakfast had those sorts of problems in mind, but it remained a hearty breakfast. Harry loved Dobby, even if the little guy was perpetually stuck in “five year old on a sugar high” mode.

“Oh Merlin, look at Potty and Weasel!” Draco’s snide voice chortled while Harry was in the midst of slicing up some of the scone and an egg on his plate.

Raising an eyebrow, he glanced over at the blond Slytherin and rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Why’re you looking in my direction, Draco? Jealous that I have the legs to wear a skirt and you don’t?” Harry said with a smirk, taunting the young Slytherin with a quirked eyebrow. “You should really keep your eyes to yourself, ferret-face.”

“How dare you-” Draco hissed, his hand reaching for his wand.

“Are you that daft?” Alice said, finally making her presence known. “You’re about to throw a curse or a hex at another student with a visiting staff member sitting literally three feet to his left? Is this the best that Hogwarts has to show?” she asked, her tone biting and venomous.

Draco turned red and spun on heel and stormed over to the Slytherin table, a sulking sneer on his face that remained for the rest of the meal.

“Good show, Professor White,” Fred Weasley said proudly, sitting down at the table. “I suppose it’s true that nobody ever said Slytherins were the smartest people on Earth, right Georgie?”

“Right, dear brother,” George chimed in. “Particularly Malfoy. He seems to be a few Knuts short of a galleon, just like his dear old dad.”

“Don’t paint all Slytherins with the same brush,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “For point of fact, I was almost one.”

“What?” Ron asked, looking bewildered.

“The Sorting Hat said, and I quote, ‘you could do great things in Slytherin’—I told him to sod off and put me in Gryffindor,” Harry said airily. “I’m sure there are some good Slytherins, it’s just that between Malfoy and Snape–”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione corrected absently.

“—there’s very little room for dissent in their ranks,” Harry finished, glancing around at those in his immediate vicinity.

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Ron murmured.

“Indeed,” Alice said dryly, taking a sip of her tea.

“Anyway! Ronniekins,” George said with a grin. “We just wanted to say we’re so proud of you.”

Ron glared at his elder brother. “What’d’ya mean?” he asked carefully.

“Your willingness to parade around in a skirt for Harry’s sake,” George continued. “That’s the mark of a good friend, my dear little brother.”

Ron blushed slightly. “After what Harry’s done for me… for us, I would do just about anything for him. This really isn’t that big of a deal. Don’t make it a big deal, okay?” he said, slightly pleading.

“Of course not—though you will have to put up with sending Mum some pictures,” George chimed in. “She’d be right cross if nobody told her. She’d probably think it’s the most adorable thing ever.”

“You’re terrible,” Ron deadpanned. “Please don’t tell Mum.”

“You know, Ronnie,” Ginny said, dropping down on the bench in front of the small Salem crowd. “If you want to borrow some of my outfits for a Hogsmeade weekend…”

Ginny gave a slight giggle and a wicked smirk at her brother.

“…we can make arrangements!” she said in a sing-song voice, winking.

“Ginny, I swear to Morgana, _shut it_ ,” Ron said, flushing red in irritation.

“Knock it off, the three of you,” Harry cut in, scowling. “It’s bad enough we’re going to have to put up with teasing from everyone else, the last thing we need is teasing from you lot. He’s your brother, for the love of all things holy.”

Fred raised his hands in surrender. “We didn’t intend to tease this time, I swear,” he said. “It just sorta happened. We just wanted to come over and tell our dear brother that he’s doing a wonderful job of being your friend, and that we’re proud of him.”

“I’m sorry, it was a bit insensitive of me,” Ginny said, frowning in her own right. “Fred and George are right, Ron. If I was a bloke, I don’t think I’d have the self-esteem to wear a skirt, even if it was for Harry. No offense, Harry. I barely like the bloody things and I’m a girl.”

“None taken,” Harry said with a nod and a smile at the young Weasley.

“Again, it’s not that big of a deal,” Ron muttered. “It’s just called being a good friend.”

“Maybe so, but you know how Mum is about doing what’s right, not what’s easy. She’s almost as bad as the Headmaster with her weird idioms,” Ginny said, shrugging. “Now, if you three would just study more, she’d probably stop sending you howlers.”

Fred and George merely smirked at their little sister’s comment before leaving, and Ron frowned and looked down at his plate.

“Ron,” Harry said gently, nudging his friend. “I really do appreciate your friendship, and all you’ve done for me, and the support you’ve shown me. We study plenty; people just forget that fact because of how much nonsense we go through each year. It’s hard to keep up rigorous studying without going utterly barmy.”

Ron glanced at Hermione. “No comments from you?” he asked with a slightly bitter tone in his voice.

Hermione flushed with annoyance, before sighing, closing her eyes, and shaking her head.

“I can’t _make_ you do better in class, Ronald. That’s a decision you have to make on your own, without my nagging. I _do_ think you should apply yourself more than you already do, but that’s just me,” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

“Honestly,” Parvati interjected. “Ron, don’t get so glum about it. The grades you get up through fourth year don’t matter a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. It’s your OWLs and NEWTs that make the biggest difference.”

“Yeah,” Lavender agreed. “Of course, the fundamentals you learn in your first four years is what gives you the ability to _pass_ your OWLs and subsequently, your NEWTs, but it isn’t impossible to catch up even if you’ve been mediocre for the first four years.”

Alice nodded in agreement, before gently leaning in and talking softly enough that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Provided you study enough; you could theoretically test into any OWL-level class you choose. Taking the lower-year courses is just the ‘guided study’ way of doing it. How do you think Percy Weasley got twelve OWLs?”

“I was told he used a Time Turner,” Hermione said, frowning.

“He might have,” Alice said nonchalantly. “But I doubt he attended all twelve classes consistently. OWL and NEWT courses do work differently than what you’re used to.”

“So you’re saying that if I studied, say, Ancient Runes, and passed the fourth year exam, I could sit OWL Runes next year?” Harry asked, bewildered at the idea of being able to test into something that easily.

“Theoretically, yeah, if that’s what you want to do,” Alice confirmed with a nod.

“I don’t know where this stupid rumour of me never studying came from,” Ron said petulantly, stabbing his fork into the egg on his plate. It was obvious that the topic was eating at him worse than everyone else.

“It’s not that I don’t like to bloody study, it’s just that I don’t find reading very much fun, and I don’t study to the point where I miss out on having some fun. ’m tired of being treated like Harry Potter’s _stupid_ friend.”

“You’re not stupid,” Harry interjected, grasping Ron’s shoulder tightly. “Don’t you ever think that, mate. You’re not my _stupid_ friend, you’re my first friend.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I didn’t have any friends coming up with the Dursleys,” he explained. “You were the first person who took pity on the little scrawny git that I was.”

“You’re still kind of a scra-,” Ginny said before something _banged_ under the table and she hissed in pain. Harry shot an eyebrow at the angry face of Hermione—which vanished behind a cool mask of neutrality immediately afterwards.

“You were a bit of a git with the whole ‘wicked cool, do you have the scar’ bit, and with the way you were mocking Hermione, but you were eleven,” Harry continued, ignoring the interruption. “I don’t like to put you or Hermione into specific categories. You two have been there for me through so much—if I had to pick between the two of you in a life or death situation, you could bet all the magic in the world I’d do as much as I could to save you both, even if it meant risking myself in the process.”

The fire in Harry’s statement caused Ron and Hermione to both blush slightly at the high praise from their friend, though a frightening disquiet seemed to settle over the group at the implications of how far Harry would go to save his friends.

…

Harry considered this whole affair to be akin to yanking a bandage straight off; it was best to just get over it. Despite his recalcitrance, embarrassment, and discomfort, he’d dedicated himself to getting through classes, even in a skirt. He did want to do his best, after all.

Charms was proving to be somewhat more of a chore than usual, as Ron and Harry both struggled with the summoning charms.

This was in sharp contrast to the other three members of their little group who seemed to have no trouble at all managing to summon things left and right—Hermione in particular becoming something of a magnet for various little objects littered about the room. However, even Ron managed it in the end, leaving Harry as the only member of the class (other than Neville) to be saddled with extra homework.

Attempted reassurances from his fellow ‘Salem’ students had fallen in deaf ears, and Harry had becoming quite stone-faced and irritated as they proceeded to their lunch period for the day.

Malfoy was already in the Great Hall, prancing about like a great cockatiel; handing out badges that extolled the virtues of Cedric Diggory and rather childishly said ‘ _POTTER STINKS_ ’.

“Like them, Potter?” Malfoy said loudly, smirking while his hangers-on chuckled and guffawed.

Harry snorted loudly, and suddenly, all the anger and frustration that had been building up in his chest deflated like an old balloon that’d had all the helium let out of it. “Is that really the best you’ve got, Malfoy? You’ve lost your touch, haven’t you?” he asked, shaking his head. “Maybe I should tell Fred and George to stop hitting you with Bludgers during games; I think you’ve finally lost the tiny sliver of brain you had left.”

Malfoy’s face flushed red with anger again, but his hand didn’t stray towards his wand. After that, the lunch period was largely peaceful, though the periodic flashing of the badges did not help improve Harry’s mood.

At the end of their lunch period, Alice made an appearance. “Come along you five,” she said. “You’ve got Potions this period, correct?”

She escorted them to an empty classroom adjacent to their residence, which she had converted into an impromptu potions lab. As she led them into the room, she grinned.

“Professor Snape was rather hostile to the proposition of me holding my potions classes in the same dungeon as his, so I decided that a change in scenery was appropriate. Since there is only five of you, you can each take a desk and set up your cauldrons. What did his last lesson cover?”

“I believe we were about to start on antidotes,” Hermione said.

“Antidotes, okay,” Alice said with a nod. “Well, before we do any brewing, we’re going to have a bit of a discussion about basic safety practices, as well as what expectations I have for you through the end of this term.”

Harry actually found himself enjoying Potions more than he ever had under Snape—though the only real difference between Snape’s classes and this was the fact they weren’t in a dark dungeon and the fact that Alice was happy to answer any specific questions, and gave _constructive criticism_.

The methods of learning Potions—mostly relying on instructions in a book and following them to the letter was consistent across the board, and was apparently a core part of the international mastery programs for Potioneering. You had to be able to rely on instructions and instinct, without direct overhead guidance.

On a couple occasions, Alice would go over to one of the five and gently help them get their potion back on track after some slight mistakes caused instability or a result that wasn’t desirable.

However, towards the end of class, just as they were packing all their belongings up to leave, the door swung open, revealing a sweating Colin Creevey.

“Professor White,” Colin said, breathlessly. “I’ve been asked to take Harry Potter to the Weighing of the Wands.”

“Ah, right, I believe Vesta told me about that,” Alice said with a nod. “Harry, I want you to write me a short essay on the potion we worked on today. Off you trot, kiddo. Vesta will be waiting for you.”

Colin filled the short walk to the room in question with his excited ramblings about the tournament and questions about what it was like.

Harry tried his best to field the questions and entertain Colin, but the boy was practically brimming with energy, a sharp contrast to Harry’s already well-built world-weariness, and they were only a year apart in age. He just couldn’t get a grip on it.

Honestly, it only served to make Harry feel even older than he already was. How could he and another kid nearly his age be _so far apart_ in terms of everything? It was a rhetorical exercise on his part– Harry already knew the answer, but he liked to pretend he didn’t so he didn’t have to address any of the burning existential questions lodged in the back of his mind.

The classroom in question was small, with most of the desks shoved off into corners to provide for maximum space, though a large row of tables Had been placed in front of the blackboard, with velvet covering it like a tarp. A number of comfortable seats were set out—with the familiar face of Ludo Bagman seated in one of them, talking to a chipper-looking blonde witch that Harry had never met before.

Viktor Krum was standing in the corner, moodily sulking, as he’d seemed to be doing every day since he’d arrived at Hogwarts—very different, in Harry’s own opinion, from the jubilance and sheer energy the bloke had given off at the World Cup. Fleur and Cedric seemed to be discussing something at length, though when Harry stepped through the door, they’d both looked over and gave him soft, reassuring smiles.

Finally, standing just to the side of the long judges’ panel, was Vesta Spellman.

“Ah-ha!” Bagman said, startling Harry from his thoughts. “There’s champion number four now; come on in Harry, we’ll be starting just as soon as the rest of the judges arrive. The expert is upstairs right now with Dumbledore, and then there’s going to be a little photo shoot after the weighing of the wands. This is Rita Skeeter,” Bagman said, gesturing to the blonde-haired woman next to him. “She’s doing a piece on the Tournament for the Daily Prophet.”

“Well, we’ll see what direction it takes,” Rita said earnestly. She flashed Harry a warm smile. “Harry, would you mind us having a little word before the weighing? Madame Spellman?” Rita glanced backwards at the Headmistress.

“You may, provided I am at least present in the room,” Vesta said firmly. “Harry? Do you mind?”

“I suppose so,” Harry said with a nod.

The next room over was completely empty, and Harry sat down at the main desk at the front of the room, next to Vesta and across from Rita, who pulled out a small notebook and a blue-tipped quill.

“This is a Dicta-Quill, Harry,” Rita began. “For purposes of transparency, I will be recording our whole conversation. Should there be anything you wish to keep off the record, I would be more than happy to strike it from my notes once we’re done. First, Harry, before we discuss anything about the Tournament specifically: what made you decide to make such a vocal stand for the rights of transgender wizards and witches?”

“Pardon?” Harry asked, confused.

“Your choice to wear the uniform of Salem Witches’ Academy,” Rita clarified.

“Well, I suppose it wasn’t much of a choice for me at all, really. The Tournament bylaws, I’m told, kind of put me in a weird position.”

Rita nodded, before tapping the quill with her wand. “Off-the-record, of course, but… Harry, have you ever considered the impact of your celebrity on the lives of regular witches and wizards?” she asked, curiosity lighting up her eyes.

“Other than the time that Gilderoy Lockhart tried to force me to start a fan-club in second year, no, not really. I sort of came into this world blind and deaf,” Harry explained.

Rita’s eyebrows raised to her hairline. “Really?” she asked, concern written on her face.

Harry nodded gravely, looking a little deflated.

“Allow me to give you a sickle’s worth of free advice, then,” Rita began. “Any social cause you align yourself to will garner support based on your opinions. You are, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived. You have, even as a teenager, a large amount of ‘soft influence’ on our world. Many witches like myself would love having someone like the Boy-Who-Lived on our side.”

“You’d love my friend Hermione,” Harry said with a slight smile. “She’s very passionate about social causes.”

“Muggleborns are always very enthusiastic at first,” Rita said, almost bitterly. “They either get the ambition beat out of them by society, or they pack up and go back to being a Muggle.”

Harry frowned. “Is that really common?” he asked, feeling aghast at the idea of someone bludgeoning down Hermione into a secretarial position or forcing her to leave magical society altogether.

“It’s what happened to my first girlfriend,” Rita said nonchalantly. “She wanted to reform the Ministry’s relations with goblins and other creatures; she wrote a pretty big treatise about it, but nepotism and bigotry limited her to being a filing clerk and she ended up going back to the Muggle world. I went into journalism to do much the same, but being a half-blood…”

“You’ve garnered a reputation as a gossipmonger and haven’t risen much further than a desk jockey,” Vesta finished with a nod.

“Right,” Rita said, frowning. “Though I do do other things, just… not on the record, so to speak.” It was cryptic, and left Harry wondering what exactly she was up to when she wasn’t writing for the Daily Prophet.

“Now, um, would you be willing to discuss exactly what you mean by flying blind and deaf _on record_?” Rita asked carefully.

Harry hesitated. “It… isn’t exactly pleasant, Miss Skeeter,” he said with a grimace.

“Rita, please. I wouldn’t ever want to stand on pure formality,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You don’t have to, if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No, I…” Harry began, before frowning. “Okay, where should I begin?”


	3. Leave It In the Lap of the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sits down for an interview with Rita Skeeter, with some interesting consequences...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope your holidays were nice! The update was a little slow to get here due to holiday stuff.
> 
> Chapter title comes from "In the Lap of the Gods"/"In the Lap of the Gods... Revisited" by Queen, 1974

Rita Skeeter was, to put it simply, bewildered at the things that Harry Potter had reluctantly told her. The Boy-Who-Lived, subjected to horrid home conditions — outright child abuse, if she was reading between the lines properly — over the course of fourteen years? While she most certainly would be seeing about bringing all that was done in the dark into the light, and exposing the rot underneath all of this mess, she also knew that she would probably not be able to sleep at night unless she also raised these concerns with her contacts in the DMLE.

It was actually rather headache inducing.

Now, these were merely claims—levelled against Muggles, no less. If she reported on them as they were, she’d be granting every pure-blooded arsehole in the country a full magazine of ammunition to level against Muggles and Muggleborns—never mind that she knew for fact that many pureblood families had a tendency to use at least one type of dark hex on disrespectful children.

She’d need evidence—solid proof. Memories, photographs, testimony from witnesses. She might need to go higher in the DMLE for this than some mere desk jockeys.

Just as Harry was beginning to describe his first year at Hogwarts, the door to the classroom opened, admitting Albus Dumbledore.

“Miss Skeeter,” Dumbledore said serenely. “I believe we have a small matter of ceremony to conduct, and we can hardly do it without our fourth champion.”

She gave Dumbledore a tight smile before glancing back at Harry.

“Is there a time we can meet up again and continue this interview, Harry?” she asked.

“I suppose we could during a Hogsmeade weekend,” Harry said.

“Delightful,” Rita said with a broad smile.

The small contingent returned to the room, and Rita boredly watched the wizened visage of Ollivander go down the row of champions, inspecting their wands with his usual brand of obsession.

Of course, Rita did notice his… slight snub at the foreign delegates for their wands. His back-handed criticisms of the fact that the French girl had her grandmother’s hair in her wand—veela hair was an uncommon wand core in Britain, but popular in France; and he was incredibly critical of Gregorovich’s wand making.

On the other hand, Diggory and Harry’s wands got the most praise, being Ollivander originals.

After arranging some generic shots of each champion, and a group shot of everyone standing next to their Headmaster. The most interesting bit about this arrangement was Vesta Spellman standing next to Harry Potter.

Rita idly wondered how this was rankling Albus Dumbledore’s bones– it was no secret the old man had a great deal of interest in the well-being of the boy. After the photos were done, The four champions went about their day, and the judges started congregating together.

A sneering Severus Snape, who seemed happy to see the back of them, quickly escorted her and Bozo off the premises via Floo. As she arrived back at the Daily Prophet, she made her way to her desk and chewed on her quill-end, thinking about the story.

Barnabus Cuffe was many things, but first he was an old man with old-fashioned ideas. If she didn’t already have this story built and polished before presenting it, she had no doubt that some of Cuffe’s old chums would try to bury it under a pile of dragon shit.

The first thing she did was quickly write up a rather generic (if slightly fanciful) recollection of the Weighing of the Wands ceremony, speaking at great length about each of the champions, though perhaps giving Harry some slightly larger publicity by merit of him being the youngest contestant in the competition’s lengthy history.

After that, she quietly submitted all four photographs to the pre-press staff to have them prepared for tomorrow’s issue.

After finishing and submitting the copy for her article, she decided to head off for the day on the lead for the other Potter story, first stopping off at the Ministry.

After a quick trip through the Floo and a visit to the security desk, she was making her way towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wearing _Rita Skeeter – Press, Truth-Seeker_ on her purple robes.

No less than three rookie Aurors stuck on desk duty typically rotated through staffing the receptionist desk at the DMLE annex. This shift’s unlucky winner seemed to be a rather sour-looking pink-haired woman.

“Excuse me,” Rita said, flashing a bright smile. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of Director Bones’ time this morning. I have some rather important information for her.”

The Auror frowned and glanced down at the charmed ledger in front of her. “It seems you’re in luck, Miss Skeeter. Director Bones has a brief opening in her schedule. At the end of the hall on your left. I’ll inform her you’re coming.”

“Thank you, Auror…?”

“Tonks,” the pink-haired woman said with a frown.

“Thank you, Auror Tonks,” Rita said with a smile, before making her way down the hall. Coming to the door, she knocked on it and rocked on her heels before the door opened.

“Rita!” Amelia said, grinning at her old friend. “Who let you back here, you old bat!”

“Your cute little receptionist, of course,” Rita said with a grin, stepping into the office of her former classmate and closing the door behind her. “I actually am here on legitimate business this time. I just came back from an interview with Harry Potter at Hogwarts.”

“And this warrants the attention of the DMLE, why?” Amelia asked with her eyebrow raised.

“I’m getting to it, you vexatious witch,” Rita teased. “I got little Harry to open up about his childhood. What do you know about it?”

“I was a squad leader at the time,” Amelia said with a huff. “Way above my pay-grade. All I’m aware of is that Sirius Black got tossed in Azkaban, and Harry Potter was placed somewhere under emergency remit of Minister Bagnold.”

“Could I get copies of Black’s trial transcripts and Potter’s placement order?” Rita asked quietly.

“Why would you need those?” Amelia asked, eyes narrowing.

“Because something is rotten in the land of Albion. For instance—Harry Potter grew up with his muggle aunt and uncle, and the poor child was frequently beaten and starved depending on what fantastical offense he committed against the family that day.”

“He could be exaggerating,” Amelia said, frowning.

“You’d think that until you see Harry Potter in person. The boy is far too sallow looking for someone his age. Do you remember Mandy Frost, the Ravenclaw? He makes her look like an overstuffed turkey.”

“Oh, dear Merlin!” Amelia exclaimed. “Do you have memories or witness statements?”

“Not yet; we were interrupted before Harry could finish his story. Apparently, he’s been dealing with a lot of nonsense at Hogwarts too. There’s a suspiciously nasty looking scar on his wand arm.”

“There was something about a rash of petrification at Hogwarts a couple years ago—but nothing ever came of it, and there was Sirius Black escaping captivity last year, but other than that…?”

“Like I said, something stinks. I think Dumbledore’s involved in the whole thing, but I don’t think he’s doing it maliciously. The old codger’s just a little daft, and maybe didn’t think his actions through enough, or was constrained by something really stupid.”

“He’s been daft since before we were born,” Amelia said with a roll of her eyes. “Is it true that Potter’s parading around Hogwarts in a skirt?”

“It is indeed true, him and four other students,” Rita said with a nod. “Perhaps he’ll be the thing that finally breaks down the binary barrier.”

“You’ve been hoping for something like this for a long time, Rita. Just… don’t get too hopeful,” Amelia warned.

“I’ll just keep praying that this is the turning point,” Rita said, grinning.

“Hmm, okay, let me grab the protection order and the transcripts for you, and we can work from there. I guess I’ll need to stick a detail on investigating these allegations.”

She tapped the badge on her lapel. “Auror Tonks, come here.”

The door popped open, revealing the pink-haired woman.

“Go down to the Department of Records and get me details on Sirius Black’s trial and Harry Potter’s placement order. Both should be dated around the end of ’81.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Tonks said glumly before shuffling out again.

“What’d she do to get in the hot seat?” Rita asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Accidentally tripped over her partner’s feet during a standard sting in Knockturn Alley, accidentally stunned an innocent civilian, criminal escaped,” Amelia said with a sigh. “She’s on desk duty until she can walk in a straight-line without tripping.”

“Is she usually that clumsy?”

“She’s a metamorphmagus; if it weren’t for that fact alone, I don’t think she’d really make the cut as an Auror,” Amelia said. “Fudge has been under duress to keep slashing the DMLE budget constantly over the last few years.”

Rita raised an eyebrow. “Why?” she asked.

“Voldemort’s dead, no reason to have so many Aurors,” she said.

“… and if illegal contraband and shady backhand deals get missed by an overworked Auror Corps, all the better?” Rita asked, frowning. The longer she sat in the Ministry’s bowels, the more she realized that things were shady as they could be.

“You’ve got it,” Amelia said with a nod. “My attempts to convince the Wizengamot to increase the budget has been rebuffed.”

“Of course—most of the families on the Wizengamot have a patriarch who claimed Imperius after the war, and have dealings that are probably not very legal. Of course they’d want to weaken the Ministry’s police force.”

“That’s not even the half of it, what with many of the new recruits being nepotism hires, or having some rather regressive views on Muggles and Muggleborns,” Amelia said with a growl.

“That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” Rita murmured.

The door opened again, admitting a rather frazzled looking Tonks, and a red-faced Janice Spellman, who Rita suddenly remembered was a distant cousin of Salem’s headmistress.

“Sirius Black never got a trial,” was the first thing Janice said, to the consternation of the other two women. “I found the arrest record: he was taken into custody personally by Bartemius Crouch, and then there’s no further records on the matter. There isn’t even a transfer order to Azkaban.”

“What?” Amelia asked. “He should have been put on trial before the Wizengamot or released without charge within seven days!”

“Indeed,” Janice said darkly. “Legally speaking, he was briefly detained for suspected violations of the International Statute of Secrecy, but never charged. Even if he _was_ guilty, there’s no legal recourse for them to hold him now.”

“What a disaster,” Amelia muttered. “What about Potter’s placement order?”

“I have that here—here’s the kicker, according to the serial number on it,” Janice said, gesturing to the string of numbers etched into the top of the parchment. “It was filed with the DoR early on the morning of November the First.”

“Sirius Black wasn’t arrested until November _3rd_ ,” Amelia said.

“Indeed,” Janice said. “This order was signed and approved by DMLE Director Crouch, Minister Bagnold, and Chief Warlock Dumbledore, retroactively granting custody of Harry James Potter to a classified Muggle couple.”

“Classified?”

“Information on exactly who has custody of him is considered a state secret. I can understand why—the number of Death Eater sympathizers in the Ministry? They would’ve found and killed Harry, or tried, just like they did to Frank and Alice Longbottom.”

“I believe I need to interview Mister Potter at once,” Amelia murmured. “I suppose I have to go to Fudge and try to get him to see sense.”

…

With Rita returned to her office, her focus now placed entirely on Harry’s Hogwarts years, Amelia decided to head off the coming train and pay a visit to the Minister’s office.

“Your Excellency,” she said as she entered his office.

“Amelia, there is no need to be so formal,” he said with a slight smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’d say this is an entirely social call, but it isn’t—this is a matter that requires you to be former Auror Fudge for a minute, not Minister for Magic.”

Fudge raised his eyebrow. He was a shrewd character. A politician at heart—but then again, who wasn’t in this blasted place—but she knew that Fudge was, all in all, a decent person, even if he had a bad tendency to listen to patently bad advice from well-to-do and influential members of the public.

He’d privately confided in her on numerous occasions that he’d raise the Auror budget if it were within his power, but… there were too many contradictory interests in Wizarding Britain.

This case could be her means of prying him away from that sort of nonsense.

“What’s wrong?” Fudge asked, suddenly serious.

“There are some interesting, and a little disturbing, things going on around Harry Potter,” Amelia said quietly. “I had Rita Skeeter in my office earlier, and you’d be shocked at what she’s told me.”

Fudge stilled and looked fearful. “What?” He asked, his voice tense.

“The boy was placed with Muggles after his parents were killed, and he was subjected to extensive abuse.”

“The Boy-Who-Lived? Abused? Oh Merlin’s arse,” Fudge said, eyes wide as he slumped down in his chair. “Does she have concrete evidence?”

“Nothing concrete yet; we’re working on that. Nevertheless, this sparked some interesting complications that I think require deftness and special attention. For instance: Did you know that Potter’s placement was done two days before Sirius Black was arrested?”

“What?” Fudge asked.

“Sirius Black was arrested on November 3rd—Harry was placed with his Muggle relations on the first. Minister Bagnold, Dumbledore, and Barty placed him there by decree, rather than going through the Department of Child Services. That’s not the worst part of it, though, Minister.”

“Oh, Circe, how could it get worse?” Fudge asked, covering his face.

“Sirius Black was never put on trial for the crimes he was accused of.”

Fudge’s head shot up so fast she thought he might accidentally snap his neck in the process. “ _What?!_ ”

“I have Sirius Black’s arrest order—which we know went through, but after that, nothing. No transfer order to Azkaban, no trial transcript, nothing.”

“Potter was right,” Fudge murmured, looking horrified. “The boy was right and I… _ignored it_.”

“Sir?” Amelia asked.

Fudge hesitated, before waving his wand and summoning a tumbler of firewhiskey, and pouring a couple glasses. “Last year—you remember I went to Hogwarts with MacNair to execute that hippogriff?”

“Right,” Amelia said with a nod, thinking about it. “Wizengamot declared it to be a dangerous menace because Malfoy’s son got injured.”

Fudge’s lip curled some. “I found out the truth about that after the fact. Malfoy’s son was a little brat, decided to ignore the professor’s orders, and approached the beast after Potter took a ride on it, and got himself hurt. I told Lucius directly that he shouldn’t waste my time with such trivial and frivolous matters. If Potter or Dumbledore had made a stink in the papers, I could’ve been made to look like a fool.”

Fudge sighed and took a drink of firewhiskey. “That night, I was told that Sirius Black, with the help of Remus Lupin, kidnapped Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley in an attempt to kill them, and that they were saved by Severus Snape—Black was captured, but he somehow escaped. Snape says Potter set him free, and Potter _insisted_ in the hospital wing that Black was innocent, but I believed Snape’s claim they were all confounded. I simply did not want to believe that Sirius Black might be an innocent man.”

“Severus Snape is hardly an unbiased source,” Amelia said with a snort. “If my niece’s letters are anything to go by, the man has a hatred for Harry Potter that goes deeper than any ocean.”

“Indeed,” Fudge said sourly. “So Black is most likely innocent, and even if he isn’t, he’s legally entitled to walk free because we decided to absolutely treat the law like a punching bag. Bugger.”

Amelia nodded. “However, there is a great deal you can do to benefit from this. Potter, even though he’s just a kid, is one of the most influential people in the country. His word will mean a lot to the average witch and wizard. If you want to be less beholden to Malfoy’s interests, then this is the way for you to pry away from the purse.”

Fudge nodded in consideration. “Exonerate Black… get Potter out of his abusive situation, place him with his godfather or someone trustworthy that isn’t a dark family… and earn his endorsement.”

“There’s the shrewd Auror I knew, Cornelius,” Amelia said fondly. “There’s a reason Alastor liked you so much.”

“I regret letting Alastor go off to Hogwarts,” Fudge said. “I’m going to reactivate his commission as an Auror. I want him to help you with uncovering what exactly Potter’s been subjected to.”

“He’s on contract with Hogwarts, though,” Amelia pointed out.

“Cajole Dumbledore into getting that Lupin fellow back, then. He was eminently qualified, even if he is a were. He’ll just have to stay away from the grounds around the full moon.”

“Your Undersecretary won’t like that,” Amelia said.

“She and Hogwarts both can jog off,” Fudge said. “She forgets I’m the Minister, not her.”

He sighed, and rubbed his face. “I want you to turn up every stone having to do with Harry Potter. Everything we have on file for him, and I want you to figure out just how rogered up this whole thing is.”

“I can do that,” Amelia said with a nod. “I’ll ask Tonks to accompany Rita to her interview with Harry the next time the kid is in Hogsmeade. He apparently has quite a story to tell about his first three years at Hogwarts.”

Fudge nodded. “We may need to speak to Potter himself, see if he can get us on the right path. No doubt he has contact with Black.”

“The boy’s his godson, of course they would be in contact,” Amelia murmured. “We’ll make that part of the interview, I think. Rita knows discretion, save for her little hit-piece after the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Oh, that trash? A galleon says it was all Barney,” Fudge said with a wave of his hand. “Or someone who paid him enough to write a hit-piece.”

Amelia winced. “That happen often?”

“Often enough,” Fudge said with a sniff. “That’s something else we’ll need to discuss—the monopoly the Daily Prophet has on news. It’s fine now, what with them being so friendly to our interests, but if someone with an agenda pays them enough? We’d be absolutely up the river with no paddle.”

“Indeed,” Amelia said with a nod.

Fudge smiled. “If we play this right, we’ll come out smelling like roses, though,” he said firmly.

“I’ll head to Hogwarts immediately to speak to Dumbledore about recalling Moody. I won’t tell him the exact reason why, only that it’s Ministerial directive,” Amelia said, standing.

“Good, Dumbledore can go hang if he wants to object to it. If he’s reluctant to rehire Lupin, let me know and I’ll craft a Ministerial Decree you can nail to his big nose,” Fudge said with a nod.

…

“Bloody hell,” Padma said in shock as she looked around the Salem common room. “A bit posh, isn’t it?”

“It’s incredibly nice and cozy– we have our own rooms and everything,” Parvati said, grinning at her sister. “And no line for the shower in the morning either!”

“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Padma whined. “You have to get up early to get into the Ravenclaw showers. There are people staking it out as early as 5:30! _5:30!_ ”

“Yikes,” Parvati said. “Gryffindor isn’t nearly that bad– most of the house doesn’t wake up until breakfast time.”

“So, not to change the subject, but, how is it babysitting Potter and Weasley?” Padma asked, curiously. “I know you volunteered for it, but it must be a proper nightmare.”

“It actually isn’t nearly as bad as you’d think,” Parvati said with a snort. “I’ve told you that Harry Potter acts nothing like you’d _think_ he should act.”

“Yeah,” Padma said with a nod. “But you’re not just being his friend though– you’ve got to regulate that atrocious sense of fashion and keep him and Weasley from making a joke out of everything. That can’t be easy.”

“It’s actually fun,” Parvati replied. “Harry let me style his hair into a braid and Weasley hasn’t complained once about parading around in a skirt. They’re doing their best to accept advice where it’s given and that’s all I could ask for.”

“Why’d you even volunteer for it anyway?” Padma asked. “You weren’t friends with Potter before, were you?”

“Not really– but that had more to do with the fact we had so little in common,” Parvati said. “But, Lavender and I shared a dorm with Granger, and she was practically attached at the hip to those two and, I don’t know, Harry’s kind of cute?”

“He is cute, yeah,” Padma agreed with a nod. “But aren’t they constantly getting in trouble? Didn’t they fly a car into the Whomping Willow in second year?”

“I think so, but I doubt they did it on a lark,” Parvati retorted with a roll of her eyes. “From what I’ve been told, these sorts of things just happen to them rather than them seeking it all out.”

“Naturally,” Padma muttered. “So, if you think Potter’s cute, then let me guess: Lavender thinks Weasley is cute?”

“Who was talking about Weasley? I don’t see it, but she apparently thinks he’s roguishly handsome,” Parvati defended her friend adamantly– even if they had a difference of opinion on potential partners.

“Roguishly handsome? Has she been drinking?” Padma asked, gobsmacked. “We’re talking about the same moody, gangly bloke, right?”

“There’s more to Weasley– _Ron_ than just the fact he looks like a bean sprout,” Parvati said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s quite talented at Divination, even if he doesn’t take it completely seriously.”

“Divination,” Padma snorted in amusement.

“Don’t start!” Parvati threatened her twin sister. One of the things that the twins never agreed upon was Divination. Where Padma seemed to echo the sentiment that many at Hogwarts had– that it was a load of bunkum, Parvati held to the idea that it was a very useful skill to learn. Not everyone was a gifted seer, that much was true (though she did have her thoughts about the mystical little blonde in Ravenclaw); but divination was dead useful for other purposes.

Padma, ever the logical thinker, just couldn’t fathom that.

“Regardless,” Padma said, dismissing her sister’s cross look. “If you wanted to go after one of the boys in Gryffindor, why would you pick _Weasley_ of all the boys? Why not someone like Longbottom?”

“Longbottom?” Parvati asked in surprise. “Do you like him!?”

“Maybe,” Padma said with a blush. “He’s kinda cute in his own way– and when you look past the surface, with a little confidence he’d be a total hunk!”

“Neville Longbottom. A _hunk_ ,” Parvati said, staring at her sister in disbelief. “You’re going after Lavender for her taste in men and then going after _Longbottom?!_ ”

“Oh, come off it,” Padma said irritably. “You have a thing for little sticky boys, I tend to like boys who have strong arms. Have you ever _seen_ Longbottom’s arms?”

“I barely like boys,” Parvati muttered. “and I don’t just like _sticky_ boys. Harry is cute because he’s gentle, not because he’s sticky.”

“I’m still kinda surprised that Potter and Weasley don’t seem to mind wearing skirts. Do you think they’re- you know?” Padma asked.

“Shut up,” Parvati said, glaring at her sister. “Even if they _were_ , which I doubt they are, what would it matter?”

“I’m just asking, I don’t know many blokes that will voluntarily throw on a skirt,” Padma said innocently. “At least, none that don’t have some ulterior motive behind it.”

“You make it sound so _insidious_ when it’s nothing like that,” Parvati said, crossing her arms.

“They’re rather pretty in skirts, aren’t they?” Padma said smugly, grinning when her sister blushed.

“Shut up!” Parvati exclaimed. “Yes, they both look _good_ in skirts! But that isn’t important to me!”

Padma gave her a disbelieving look. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Potter’s the first boy you’ve ever expressed interest in.”

“I can be bisexual without having boyfriends, you bint,” Parvati protested. “No, Harry needs support. He’s got Hermione and Ron, but he needs more than that. He needs people he can rely on not to stab him in the back as soon as it’s bloody convenient for them to do so. He’s a nice guy, and it’s clear that he carries a hell of a lot on his shoulders.”

She took a deep breath. “If I can help alleviate even _some_ of that pressure, and help him get a sense of normalcy going, then all the better, honestly.”

…

A few days later, the legal orders were passed down, and now Amelia could act.

“Amelia, to what do I owe this visit?” Albus said, blinking in surprise.

“I’ve come bearing some bad news, Headmaster,” Amelia said as she stepped through Dumbledore’s floo. “Minister Fudge has ordered me to recall Alastor to active duty.”

“Really?” Albus asked, leaning forward. “Is there something going on that requires him?”

“I’m afraid that’s on a need-to-know basis, Albus.”

Albus quirked his eyebrow, but Amelia didn’t waver in her resolve. “Albus, this is a serious matter.”

Albus sighed and nodded. “Alastor is under contract for the remainder of the term. I don’t have the ability to hire someone on such short notice.”

“The Minister suggested you rehire Remus Lupin,” Amelia said. “He says that despite the fact he’s a werewolf, he was well-qualified for the job. Should you have any issues from the Board, he would be more than happy to use his influence to speed the process along.”

Albus sighed. “I understand, needs must. I will see to it immediately,” he said, before asking one of the house elves to summon Moody.

Amelia waited patiently, staring out of the window overlooking the grounds and processing her thoughts and plans for the days and weeks to come before she heard the sounds of someone coming up the stairs.

“Headmaster, what was it you needed?” Alastor grumbled as he stepped into the room, his gait swinging. “A bit busy, you know.”

Stepping behind Alastor as he approached the Headmaster, Amelia drew her wand and pressed it into the back of Alastor’s head.

“What nickname did you give me when I was an Auror Trainee?” she demanded.

“What?” Alastor said, confused. “Bones, have you gone daft?”

Amelia narrowed her eyes. “Have you been hit with memory charms, Alastor? Answer the question.”

She noticed the twitch of his arms, and just as he went for his wand, Alastor collapsed in a flash of red light, like a marionette with the strings cut.

“Amelia, what on Earth-” Albus said, alarm in his voice.

“You remember, during the war, Alastor had us ask very specific questions to each other to validate who we were. Things you couldn’t typically scrape up from a simple Legilimency probe. His words to me immediately after that Halloween were that, any time I see him, I should ask him one of a number of questions. If he didn’t respond, I was to knock him out and fill him full of purging potions.”

Albus blinked. “That sounds like Alastor,” he muttered, sinking back into his chair with a snort.

The unconscious form of Alastor was set in one of Dumbledore’s settees, while the elderly Headmaster further summoned Poppy and Severus, as well as Minerva in her stead as Deputy Headmistress.

Once they’d all arrived, and she had the purging potion in hand, Amelia enervated Alastor—he immediately began to thrash in his binds, swearing like a sailor and threatening to gut Amelia.

Grabbing his chin with her iron grip, Amelia dumped the contents of the phial down the man’s throat before leaning him forward. After a bout of profuse vomiting, the man’s skin began to bubble and crackle as he began to change shape. His enchanted eye popped out of its socket and rolled onto the floor, exposing a normal eye hidden underneath Moody’s eyepatch.

“What in Merlin’s name,” Minerva asked.

“Oh bloody hell, it’s Barty’s son,” Amelia said in surprise, looking at the dishevelled form of Bartemius Crouch Jr, who was sagging forward, sweat pouring from his face. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

Severus stepped back and to the side, earning a narrowed look from Amelia. She noted that he’d stepped out of sight of Barty– and wondered just what that was about.

Barty looked up at her in a dazed confusion as the stunner began to wear off. Before he could say or do anything, he was once again out like a light, slumping forward in his binds.

A quick floo message later, Cornelius Fudge came trundling out of the fire, looking very sour.

“Amelia, I swear, you’re going to make me lose what’s left of my hair,” he muttered as he caught sight of Bartemius Crouch Jr., sitting unconscious. “How the hell did- he died!”

“Minister, it seems we have a rash of incidents where people claiming to be dead maybe aren’t so dead,” Amelia said flatly. “Alastor has, for the longest time, insisted on security passcodes, even in peacetime, because he’s such a paranoid git. Seems his paranoia was well-justified.”

“Evidently so,” Fudge said without any mirth. Amelia could tell the man was irritated at just how deep this all was going. “How was he disguising himself as Mad-Eye?”

“Polyjuice,” Amelia said. “Which means that Alastor is still alive, probably not too far from where Barty Junior was sleeping at night, so power of deduction would indicate probably the Defence office.”

She tapped the shield on her lapel. “Shacklebolt, Vance, Tonks, Dawlish. I require you at once at Hogwarts. Be quick about it.”

It took only a few more minutes for the four Aurors to come through the Floo.

“Shacklebolt, Dawlish—I want you both to ensure that our guest here can’t hurt anybody,” Amelia said. “We still need to question him. Tonks, Vance—I need you to go to the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, and check the professor’s office. See if you can locate Alastor Moody.”

While the two Aurors made their way out of the room and to the Defence office, Amelia noticed the tension in the air, and took a deep breath and a moment to reorganise her thoughts.

“Minister, we’re going to need to pull out all the stops on this one.”

…

On the surface, the newspapers the following morning, Saturday the 14th, gave no hint of that which had transpired the previous evening—the _Prophet’s_ front page bore a large headline proclaiming the virtues of the four champions, giving some emphasis to each one’s unique status: for Viktor Krum, representing Durmstrang and being the youngest player in Quidditch World Cup history, and how his strength as a Seeker was going to help him fulfill his ambitious goals to win out.

For Fleur Delacour, playing up the pride she had in her Veela heritage, and her position as one of the top gliding performers at Beauxbâtons—a position that had earned her more than one award over the course of her seven years at the school.

For Cedric Diggory: an above average Hogwarts student, prefect for Hufflepuff house, son of a Ministry official (who was so proud of his son, the article notes), and 1990 All-British Youth Duelling League champion, and how he (and by extension Hufflepuff) were carrying the torch for Hogwarts.

And then lastly— Harry Potter: the sole representative of an American School, placed into the competition against his will. Surprisingly, the whole ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ moniker appeared hardly at all—instead, Rita Skeeter had outdone herself.

She covered the fact that young Harry was the ‘youngest Champion ever’, had earned his position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team the very first time he’d ever rode a broom at age eleven, and his consistent, brave devotion to his friends, who seemed inspired and motivated by such conscientiousness to the point of following him into representing a school they barely knew.

The article extolled the virtues and glories of all four champions, spreading goodwill—something one did not often say about Rita Skeeter’s articles. Though, at the end, Rita definitely flirted with an almost oblique reference to “an upcoming in-depth exploration of the Boy-Who-Lived and the life he’s lived”.

As breakfast came to an end, the doors to the Great Hall opened, admitting a slightly less-shabby looking Remus Lupin. Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of his father’s friend. As Harry glanced back at the Head Table, Dumbledore rose to his feet, wearing his comforting genial look.

“Students, I regret to inform you that Professor Moody has been recalled to the Ministry for important business, and that he will be stepping down immediately as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. The Ministry has graciously given its blessing for us to bring back Professor Remus Lupin to serve out the remainder of the term. Welcome back, Professor!”

The Gryffindors were, without a single doubt, the loudest and most raucous of all the students—Much of the admiration for their professor last year hadn’t faded from memory, and the idea of such a popular professor coming back and besting the curse was absolutely stunning.

Curious about what exactly had transpired to cause the sudden resignation of one professor and the rehiring of another who he knew to represent a political minefield, Harry had decided to go on to Hogsmeade alone that morning.

He ended up begging off an offer from Ron and Hermione to accompany him, saying he had some business to conduct with Rita Skeeter (Hermione’s curled lip making clear her opinions on the woman who was so well-known as a rumour-monger), and made his way down to the village by himself, a pensive and thoughtful mood settling over him like a blanket.

When he stepped into the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta looked up from the bar. “Harry Potter,” she greeted. “They’re waiting for you upstairs, first door on the left.”

“They?” Harry asked.

Madam Rosmerta nodded. “I’ll be up shortly to take your lunch orders, dearie. I wouldn’t keep the Minister waiting.”

“The _Minister_?” Harry asked, dumb-founded. He climbed the stairs quickly, and nearly fell through the door to the room where Minister Fudge was seated, looking contrite and twirling his lime green bowler hat in his hands, next to a woman who looked familiar (though he wasn’t sure from where), a pink-haired woman in red robes, and Rita.

“Harry,” Rita greeted warmly. “I’m so glad you could make it. I’m afraid our little interview has gotten a bit more complicated.”

“I… I see that,” Harry murmured. “Minister Fudge. A pleasure to see you again.”

“You too, my boy,” Fudge said, brightening somewhat.

“I presume this has something to do with Professor Moody’s sudden departure?” Harry asked dryly.

“Indeed,” Fudge said. “I know that we have been acquainted, and that you have met Miss Skeeter, but I would like to introduce you to Madame Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Auror Nymphadora Tonks.”

“Wotcher, Harry,” the pink-haired girl said. “You can call me Tonks.”

“Um, hello,” Harry said. “Bones? Like Susan Bones?”

“She’s my niece,” Amelia said with a smile. “Would you like to take a seat, Harry?”

“Um, right, of course,” Harry said, sitting down across from the Minister.

“Harry,” Fudge said nervously. “I’m a proud man, and it’s hard to admit I was wrong, but… some facts have come to light that tell me that you told the truth in June. I was being a stubborn politician and refused to listen to reason, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Sir?” Harry asked, confused.

“Sirius Black,” Fudge said dryly, taking a drink of firewhiskey.

“Harry, I may be called many names—a gossip monger, _that witch_ , a vicious character assassin with a quill,” Rita began. “But I am also an experienced investigative journalist. I was doing some research at the DMLE and tried to get a copy of Sirius Black’s trial transcripts, when much to my surprise… we found they didn’t exist.”

She stopped for a second to gauge Harry’s reaction– or lack thereof. It didn’t surprise Harry that much to know that the whole thing had been utterly bungled from the very beginning.

“Furthermore,” Rita continued. “You were placed with your Muggle guardians two days before Sirius Black was arrested by Ministerial decree. These two facts alone have blown up this little ‘life and times of Harry Potter’ story into a serious concern about the well-being and caretaking of the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Harry squirmed. This was getting deep into uncomfortable territory. He was beginning to wish he’d never spoken to Rita– and hoped that nobody asked too many questions about Sirius. He was the first to admit it: he was quite a terrible liar.

“There are some questions, merely some clarifications about what you’ve said already to Miss Skeeter. That is, if you’re willing to answer them,” Amelia said, frowning.

“How much of this is going to make it into the Daily Prophet? If… I’m going to be honest about it, and I’m not sure how much I really want to share, the last thing I want is for it to be plastered all over the papers.”

“As I said to you in our previous interview, Harry—I am giving you full right to strike what you wish from our interviews.”

“Okay,” Harry said with a sigh. “Fire away, I guess.”

Amelia glanced at Tonks, who nodded, pulling out a parchment and a quill and waving her wand over it.

“This is a voluntary interview conducted as part of a Child Protection Enquiry, on the fourteenth day of November, 1994. Nymphadora Tonks, presiding Auror—accompanied by authorized persons Minister Cornelius Fudge and Director Amelia Bones. Interview subject: Harry James Potter, minor, age fourteen.”

Tonks nodded at what was being scribbled on the parchment before looking up.

“Mister Potter, would you please extend your wand out to give a truthfulness oath?” Tonks asked, and Harry, reluctantly, raised his Wand. He repeated the oath as prompted by Tonks, swearing to speak only the truth until released from the interview.

“Good,” she murmured, once they’d put their wands away. “For the record, Mister Potter, could you please confirm for us your current residence?”

Harry sighed. “Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey.”

“You live there with Vernon and Petunia Dursley, your Muggle relatives?”

“Correct, along with their son, Dudley,” Harry murmured.

“Have you ever suffered direct neglect or a form of physical abuse as a result of your magic?” Tonks asked, and Harry stiffened.

“Yes,” he admitted, cheeks flaming.

“Do you remember the first time this happened?”

“There are a few incidents that stand out,” Harry said. “I believe the first time was just before I started primary school. My aunt trimmed off most of my hair except for a fringe covering my scar, and then locked me… in my cupboard.”

He took a deep breath.

“I cried all night…” he continued. “…and when I woke up again, my hair had all grown back. When my aunt and uncle saw, I was beaten with a leather belt and locked in the cupboard for a week.”

“Also,” he said dryly. “There was the time I accidentally turned my teacher’s wig blue—the time that I think I accidentally Apparated to the roof of the school kitchens while being chased by my cousin and his friends, and the time I blew my aunt up.”

“Ah, yes,” Fudge nodded. “I remember that incident. Miss Marjorie Dursley, I believe?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said with a nod. “She was visiting around my birthday, and she had been heavily drinking brandy and eating this awful cake that she likes. She kept calling my father a dead-beat drunk, and implied that my mother had bad breeding.”

He took on a nasally impression of his uncle’s sister. “If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’s something wrong with the pup.”

The dark, clouded expressions Harry saw come over the adults’ faces made clear that, even so long after their deaths, speaking ill of the Potters was a good way to piss off a bunch of wizards.

He shook his head. “I got angry, and she inflated like a balloon and went out the patio door,” he admitted. “After that, I ran away… and, well, ended up at the Leaky Cauldron where I met the Minister.”

“You said… cupboard earlier? Is that your bedroom?” Tonks asked, voice thick.

“It was from the day I was given to them until my Hogwarts letters started arriving. My uncle refused to let me read them, and kept nailing up the mail slots and the like. They moved me upstairs in case Headmaster Dumbledore was watching the house. They didn’t want anybody to know how they’d been treating me to that point.”

“Could you tell us a bit of context behind the warning you were issued on the 31st of July 1992 for underage use of magic?” Tonks asked.

“You won’t believe me; it’s a bit silly, even for wizards,” Harry said, frowning.

“Anything you say here will be treated with the utmost consideration. You have my word on that, my boy,” Fudge said.

“Okay, so, that evening my relatives had a business meeting with some investor or something stupid like that. I was confined to my bedroom— I was told to be quiet and not make any noises. My relatives always liked to paint me as a disturbed head-case, attending a school for criminal boys and the like. I hadn’t been getting any mail for weeks since I left Hogwarts, and… this little house elf, Dobby, kept trying to get me not to go to Hogwarts. He’d been nicking all my mail, and when I told him that I was going anyway, he decided the best route would be to get me expelled.”

Harry gestured vaguely. “So,” he said with a sigh. “He levitated the pudding my aunt had made and dumped it all over the investor’s wife’s head. Little bugger earned me a concussion and I was locked in my room.”

“Yes… Mister Arthur Weasley has said as much, indicating that on the evening of August 3rd, three of his sons flew to Surrey in an enchanted car, where according to what Mister George Weasley told him, the ‘Muggles had put bars on his window’?” Tonks asked.

“Big metal bars like a prison cell,” Harry said. “Several locks that operate from the outside, and a cat flap to feed me through.”

“…Is that normal for how they treated you?” Madame Bones asked warily.

“Yeah, if it weren’t for the food Mrs. Weasley was sending me, I think I might’ve starved to death last summer… well, that and the threat of Sirius coming and killing them all. He’s my godfather, you know.”

“This house elf… Dobby, he was also the reason why you and Mister Ronald Weasley were spotted flying that same enchanted car from London to Scotland?”

“Okay, maybe we were kind of being stupid, but you leave two twelve-year-old wizards in the middle of Muggle London with very little to do to help themselves get onto the platform, they’re going to come up with some ridiculous, hare-brained scheme. Believe me, Professors McGonagall and Snape made clear how stupid that idea was.”

“Where is this Dobby now?” Tonks asked.

“I believe he’s working for Hogwarts now in the kitchens,” Harry said. “He was Lucius Malfoy’s house-elf before that, but I freed him after the Chamber of Secrets nonsense.”

Fudge looked contrite again—he had been right in the middle of that whole affair, and had never quite gotten a clear understanding of what had happened.

“Harry, based on this testimony, would you describe your current residence as a hostile environment?”

“Oh, absolutely yes,” Harry said, shaking his head. “When Sirius told me he was my godfather, and we found Peter Pettigrew, I absolutely wanted right there and then to run off and live with him. Anything would be better than living with the bloody Dursleys.”

“You… you were willing to move in with the man who until literally the day prior, you presumed to be the reason your parents were murdered?” Fudge said, horror in his voice.

“Sir, Sirius killing me would have at least been quick. Between my aunt’s liberal application of a frying pan, my uncle’s leather belts, and my cousin’s meaty fists, I’m sort of up the creek with no paddle regardless of my choices.”

“Bleeding hell,” Fudge murmured, taking another draught of firewhiskey. “Mister Potter… Harry, the wizarding community owes you an apology and so much more. We celebrate the sacrifice you and your parents made every year, but have done nothing to assure that you are treated with kindness and compassion.”

“Minister,” Harry said, to forestall further grovelling, “there’s so much more to this that you don’t know yet. Let’s begin with my first year at Hogwarts.”

The ensuing explanation of events included such things as Quirrell trying to kill him at his first Quidditch match, the drooling cerberus that Hagrid had gotten in a pub, as well as the fact the Philosopher’s Stone had been locked up in the third-floor corridor behind a number of rather simplistic tasks and a locked door that could be done in by a simple _Alohomora_ charm.

By the end of his rather long-winded discussion of first year, the four adults across from him looked bug-eyed, and like they were facing down a blasting curse and their lives were about to end.

Fudge in particular was pale and fearful by the end of it.

“Are you telling me he… _isn’t really gone?_ ” Fudge whispered.

“I don’t know for certain, sir,” Harry said, rubbing his scar idly. “Something that called himself… _that name_ possessed Professor Quirrell.”

“Regardless of if he is or isn’t truly gone, I can’t believe the gall of Dumbledore,” Amelia fumed. “Hiding a priceless artefact in a school full of children.”

“It gets worse,” Harry muttered.

The subsequent explanation of second year, and how Lucius Malfoy had been the one to plant the diary on Ginny Weasley, and how Harry had slain a basilisk was met with some disquiet and disbelief, but the scars on Harry’s arm, plus the vivid recollection and the still-active truthfulness oath had smoothed over some of the more unbelievable facets of the whole thing.

“Oh god,” Fudge muttered, rubbing his eyes. “That’s another person who needs a pardon.”

“In all fairness, sir,” Harry said. “You were merely doing your job as best as you could. The blame for Hagrid’s wand being snapped falls at the feet of Headmaster Dippett and the Minister of the time.”

“I appreciate you saying so, Harry,” Fudge said, tiredly. “However still, I am a guilty party.”

“Indeed,” Harry murmured.

Harry’s explanation of the events with Sirius, Buckbeak, and the dementors during his third year came as even more of a shell-shocker, and Fudge jumped to his feet, swearing like a sailor.

“Minister!” Madame Bones rebuked the older man. “Calm yourself!”

“And then of course you know about my wand being stolen and used to cast the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, plus my unwilling entry into the Triwizard Tournament, and that brings us to today.”

“Indeed. We’ve actually found the guilty party in that,” Amelia said. “It seems that one of our Azkaban inmates who _supposedly_ died was impersonating your Professor. If there was a way to get you out of it, we would.”

Harry nodded before sighing. “I appreciate the effort, I suppose.”

There were a few moments of silence, before Fudge nodded tightly. “I think we have a lot of work to do, Harry. I can again only offer my most sincere apologies for all that you’ve had to go through since re-joining our world. You should have never been left to Muggles.”

“Most Muggles aren’t that bad,” Harry said matter-of-factly—just because he wasn’t always fond of them did not mean it was _okay_ to spread that kind of ignorance around. “It is just unfortunate that the Muggles I was saddled with were the worst. Hermione’s parents are okay, from what I’ve been told, and they’re Muggles.”

“My grandparents are Muggles, they’re nice,” Tonks chimed in.

“Indeed,” Fudge said wryly. “One last question, Harry. Are you in regular contact with Sirius Black?”

Harry regarded him warily before nodding. “Yes, he and I have… kept contact with one another since he escaped.”

“I will be issuing a pardon for him in the coming days, but we would still like to conduct an interview with him for legal purposes.”

“I can let him know about that, sir,” Harry said.

“Good. Good,” Fudge said nodding. “Harry, I promise you now, you will _never_ have to return to those Muggles, even if I have to emancipate you with a private Wizengamot act.”

Harry brightened, giving the Minister a genuine grin. “You’d have my deep appreciation, sir.”

Fudge returned the smile, before rising to his feet and placing his hat back on. “It was good to see you, Harry. Next time you’re around the Ministry, stop by my office for tea.”

As the Minister departed, there was a palpable silence before Amelia coughed.

“As part of this little dog and pony show,” she said quietly, “we need you to undergo a direct medical examination. For that, we will need to speak to your guardian.”

“I suppose my guardian at this time is… um, Professor White from Salem,” Harry said, uncertainly. “I’ve been in the hospital ward at Hogwarts loads of times. Wouldn’t the matron have seen whatever you’re looking for?”

There were some traded looks between the three witches, before Amelia sighed and scrawled down another thing on the parchment in front of her. “Bloody hell, this is going deeper than anything I’ve ever dealt with in all my years. We will find answers…”

Harry was soon let go to return back to Hogwarts—and Amelia reached for the bottle of firewhiskey that the Minister had ordered and left behind.

“Okay,” she said after she’d taken a strong drink. “First thing’s first—we need to get a warrant to conduct a search of Potter’s home and interrogate his relatives. Question those Muggles, find out just how bad things are.”

“We need the incident report from the accidental magic reversal team about that Marge woman,” Tonks pointed out.

“I need someone more tangible as a target than these Muggles. I’m not trying to start a race war,” Rita commented dryly.

“Yes—expand the questioning,” Amelia said firmly. “Start with Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall. The former has reportedly had Harry in her ward numerous times. Subpoena those medical records—and Minerva is his Head of House and the Deputy Headmistress. No doubt she wasn’t too far from Dumbledore when all this nonsense was going down.”

“Who else?” Tonks asked, writing down the information Amelia was telling her.

“We’ll continue building the list as we see fit. In the meantime, let’s knock out the easiest things first—the Muggle relatives, and Hogwarts’ matron.”

Acquiring a concrete warrant was child’s play—with the Minister’s full backing to get this problem done as fast as was possible, Amelia gathered Dawlish and Tonks and decided to personally lead the raid on Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey—and they were joined by one of the MI5 representatives attached to the DMLE to serve as their liaison for all matters crossing both worlds.

Arriving at the doorstep midmorning the following day, Amelia rapped her knuckles on the door three times and waited patiently.

The door opened and a blonde woman peered out, her lips thin with displeasure.

“No soliciting!” she barked, before Amelia drew a slip of parchment from her coat.

“Mrs. Dursley, we are here to act upon a warrant to search the premises, on the behalf of the Ministry for Magic.”

Mentioning the Ministry seemed to be Petunia’s berserk button. “You have no power here, you freaks! We’re not under your government!” Petunia hissed in response, before trying to slam the door, only to find herself being propelled backwards and stunned.

Casting a spell to check the premises for other individuals, Amelia noticed the presence of two other people—the husband, no doubt, and Harry’s cousin.

“Tonks, you take care of the minor—you may only stun him if he attempts to attack you. Try to de-escalate first. Dawlish, take care of Mister Dursley.”

Within a few minutes, Vernon and Petunia Dursley were detained in their own living room, the three Aurors and government minder standing before them.

“Mister and Missus Dursley—as part of our warrant, I am authorized to use any and all means to retrieve information relevant to our case. At this time, should you be non-compliant, I will be administering Veritaserum to compel the truth from you. I am legally obligated to tell you that this is standard procedure in all criminal cases. The choice as to which path we take is yours.”

Neither one seemed willing to talk, so Amelia sighed in resignation. Drawing a sheet of parchment and a quill from her coat, she tapped her wand to it, causing the quill to spring to life and jump to the top of the sheet of parchment.

“Officer Newkirk,” Amelia asked, glancing back at the man accompanying her. “Would you be willing to stand in as a witness of these proceedings?”

“Naturally, Madame Bones,” he said wryly.

“The following is a formal administration of Veritaserum in regards to the questioning of Mister Vernon Dursley and Missus Petunia Dursley on the fifteenth day of November, 1994. Amelia Bones as primary interrogator, Officer Peter Newkirk, MI5 as primary witness and secondary interrogator.”

Glancing at the notes that Tonks had taken at Harry’s interview, Amelia began to piece together a general idea of what exactly had transpired at No.4 Privet Drive over the years. Petunia had clearly recalled finding Harry Potter sitting on her front doorstep in the early morning hours, like a disposed crate of milk.

‘ _Abandonment—leaving a toddler out on a front doorstep is a violation of at least three laws. Harry should have been delivered to his closest living relative, godparent, or to an orphanage. I need to check who his other godparent is._ ’ Amelia thought as she looked over the account.

Subsequently, the questioning had deepened into things such as Petunia taking a swing at young Harry with a cast-iron frying pan (even the permissive laws of Muggle Britain considered _that_ cruel and unusual punishment). The woman seemed to harbor no _actual_ hatred for her nephew, but merely a callous cruelty stemming from jealousy and apathy. Petunia knew that Lily’s son would be magic, and so she had the idea in her head of stamping it out of him so he would never suffer as much as she had at the hands of such terrible people.

Amelia was left feeling a bit ill once Petunia was given the antidote. The woman’s malicious intent was clear, but it was… ironically rooted in something other than hatred.

Vernon Dursley, on the other hand– the hatred was as clear as day as the man gleefully recalled various beatings with leather belts and other objects, starving him on the slightest excuse, and forcing a young boy to live in a tiny cupboard beneath the stairs. She’d been forced to conclude the interview before she lost her temper and hexed the man.

This sort of thing just dug further into Amelia, and put into context just how abhorrently the Boy-Who-Lived had been treated.

Once she’d finished with both interviews, she directed Auror Tonks and Dawlish to catalogue the house for records—including Harry’s former bedroom. It had been long-converted into a linen closet, but the signs of Harry’s childhood remained; a crudely written sign indicating whose bedroom it was, a threadbare cot and a few broken toys.

Additionally, the cat-flap, locks and sheared-off bars on the windows of the smallest bedroom upstairs furthered their evidence—this correlated nicely with the claims Arthur had made.

After all was said and done, Amelia returned to the living room—and glanced at the MI5 representative, who stepped forward and began the process of placing the two adults under arrest—the unfortunate truth of the matter was, Muggles were hardly afforded the same legal rights under the wizarding system as witches and wizards were, so actually _punishing_ Muggles for illegal behaviour in these rare instances was not a task their system was prepared to handle. Handing them over to the Muggle government for special considerations was often the easiest route, even if it did seem slightly inhumane.

She was rather thankful, in fact: the crimes they’d committed against the young man would have landed them in Azkaban, a place they would not have lasted but a few weeks at the most.

With all said and done, local constables contacted by the MI5 representative came and picked up Dudley Dursley, to be taken to the care of his closest relative—Marjorie Dursley. The two adults were packed away in cars to be escorted to a high security detention facility where they would be held for the time being.

With their business concluded, the three Aurors quickly departed back to the office, where Amelia made sure all their findings were properly filed; she was taking no more chances.

The Minister—for his part, was practically frothing at the mouth when Amelia shared her findings and confirmed Harry’s testimony.

“Those… blasted Muggles!” he seethed. “ _Prison bars?! Using kitchen instruments as disciplinary tools?!_ ”

“I will note that not all Muggles are this way, just these two depraved individuals,” Amelia commented with an off-hand gesture. “Unfortunately, you may very well get a visit from Headmaster Dumbledore if he catches wind that we’ve had them booked.”

Fudge sighed. “Yes, indeed,” he murmured. “How goes the rest of your investigation, Amelia?”

“Now that we’ve got evidence of the abuse—ironclad stuff to boot, we can work on subpoenaing his medical records from Hogwarts. Our contacts through the NHS and St. Mungo’s have already given us everything he has on file—which is to say, very little. Minor vaccinations before he started Muggle primary, and then a visit to the optometrist just before he turned four.”

“… He has never seen a proper healer?” Fudge asked, horrified.

“It doesn’t appear so,” Amelia said. “Meaning the boy’s an actual walking dragonpox outbreak waiting to happen.”

“Bollocks. National security. Get that boy to a healer immediately. I don’t care what you have to tell Dumbledore.”

“Let me see if Hogwarts took care of it first,” Amelia said soothingly. “It won’t be more than a couple days.”

“Alright,” Fudge said, calming down a little. “I’m going to reach out to some of our… less partisan members of the Wizengamot about this issue, see if we can’t build up a political coalition to tackle this problem without falling into either Lucius’ or Dumbledore’s pocket.”

“Sir, if I may say so—it’s such a pleasure to see you being so proactive and independent. If you don’t mind me asking, what brought on this change?”

“Popularity is a fickle thing, Amelia,” he said, thoughtfully. “There’s money in being a reliable partner, to be certain, but after this… Potter affair, I’m realizing just how bad I’ve allowed things to get. I came into this office to do good by it, and I’ve been doing just as bloody terrible of a job as Bagnold did.”

Amelia gave her boss a grin. “Well, good to have you back sir. I’m sure Alastor’s proud of you.”

“He’d better bloody be. That reminds me, I’m going to see him at St. Mungo’s tomorrow and I’ll want two of your Aurors to come along—I need an extra set of wands in case I need to hex him back to the stone age for harassing the healers,” Fudge grumbled.

Amelia let out a cackle—that _was_ what Alastor would do, wasn’t it?


	4. No Matter Where You Roam, Know Our Love Is True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are asked, hospitals are visited, and the impacts from mistakes become clearer and clearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "Crackerbox Palace" by George Harrison, 1976.

After reviewing and filing a number of pieces of parchmentwork that crossed her desk in the early hours, Amelia made her way to Hogwarts to question McGonagall and Pomfrey—she was met at the gates by Rubeus Hagrid.

“Hello there, Madame Bones,” he said, surprised. “What brings you here?”

“Ministry business,” she said curtly. “I have a written warrant here to speak to Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey on government matters.”

Hagrid blinked—clearly out of his element, she figured. “I’ll have to speak to Headmaster Dumbledore, but alright, come on in.”

On the way up to the castle, Amelia glanced at the half-giant. “You know, recently, I’ve spoken with the Minister. Should all these investigations go well, you may be looking at a full pardon and restoration of wand rights.”

“What?” Hagrid asked, almost yelping as he came to a dead stop, but Amelia merely gave him a gracious smile as they made it to the castle.

“If you could please tell Minerva to expect me to drop by later,” Amelia said, eyebrows raised. “I would appreciate it.”

The hallways were still quite empty—it was still very early, classes would not start for a few hours yet, and very few students would be in the land of the living right now anyway. That being said, Poppy Pomfrey certainly was wide awake, bustling around her empty ward with the intent and focus of a woman doing her job to the best of her ability, until she turned and saw Amelia standing in the door. Poppy stopped abruptly, frowning at Amelia’s serious demeanor.

“Madame Bones? Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I take no joy in what I’m doing today, Poppy. I’m here with a warrant. I need to speak to you about Harry Potter’s medical care—and I need copies of all the paperwork you’ve filed on the boy since he started Hogwarts; plus, I have some questions.”

She blinked in surprise. “Yes, right, of course.”

The two moved to the healer’s office, taking the available seats on both sides of the narrow desk. After warily regarding each other for a moment, the healer gave the requisite truthfulness oath to begin the testimony.

“Healer Pomfrey,” Amelia began. “How many times has the minor Harry James Potter been admitted to your hospital wing?”

“Five times,” Poppy said, waving her wand and summoning the documents for Harry Potter from her filing cabinet.

“Isn’t that rather often for a student? When was the first time you saw Mister Potter?”

“When he was just a baby, he was brought to my care by the Headmaster,” Poppy said, laying out the report she’d written. It was dated November 1st, 1981.

“Can you tell me what you did that evening?”

“I performed routine diagnostic charms, and attempted to heal the curse scar on his forehead to no success,” Poppy said thoughtfully.

“And that’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever given Harry Potter a standard physical examination?”

“No,” Poppy admitted, wincing. “Each time he’s ended up in my care, he was too injured for a standard diagnostic.”

“Please describe the other events.”

“The boy’s first year here—he was brought up to the hospital wing by the Headmaster. He had abrasions on the back of his head, was littered with cuts on his face and arms, and had distinct signs of direct contact with dark magic. After healing his superficial wounds, and treating the malevolent affliction, I kept him under observation for three days while he recuperated.”

“Did you at any time notice anything strange about his appearance?”

“He seemed a bit peaky for an eleven-year-old boy,” Poppy commented. “Though when I raised these concerns with the Headmaster, he assured me that Harry was merely small for his age.”

“I see,” Amelia said. “Second year, during the Chamber of Secrets incident?”

“Only once,” Poppy said thoughtfully. “Potter was brought here by his friends—Miss Granger and Mister Weasley. They claimed that Potter broke his arm after getting hit with a cursed Bludger. The boy had no bones in his arm—apparently he was hit with a bone vanishing spell by that daft fool Lockhart.”

“Mister Potter, during a welfare interview conducted a few days ago, demonstrated to Auror Nymphadora Tonks and myself a severe scar on his right arm. Have you, at any time, diagnosed this scar?”

“No,” Poppy said, startled. “I had no idea he had such a thing. He certainly didn’t have it when I treated him in his second year.”

“Was he admitted to the hospital ward at the end of the term for any reason?”

“No,” Poppy said, shaking her head. “At the end of term, the only individuals in the ward were the petrified students who were all reawakened.”

Amelia nodded and her frown deepened. “And last year?”

“Twice,” she said with a murmur. “The first, he was attacked by Dementors during a Quidditch match, fell off his broom and broke his right leg. The second, the Headmaster had me commit him, Weasley and Granger to the Hospital wing after they were supposedly kidnapped by Sirius Black and attacked by Remus Lupin.”

“You did not examine the boy beyond his immediate injuries, then,”

“No—there was never a cause for me to do so at those times. There were far more… pressing issues that needed addressing.”

“Are you aware, to the best of your knowledge, of Harry Potter ever being inoculated against dragonpox and other diseases?”

Poppy blinked, and then paled, and her hands immediately flew to the documents she had on the young man.

“Oh no, that’s not good,” she murmured. “How could I have missed that? Albus assured me everything was well-in-hand! You can’t be inoculated against those diseases until you’re three! Of course Mister Potter wouldn’t have been given them!”

“How does Hogwarts administer those inoculations to Muggleborns?” Amelia asked, curiously.

“They’re typically done at St. Mungo’s as part of their introduction to the wizarding world,” Poppy said abstractly. “Minerva would know more than I do about that procedure specifically, actually.”

“She is the next person I intend to interview,” Amelia said. “I will be taking copies of Mister Potter’s health reports with me.”

“Of course, of course,” Poppy said, wincing. “Is… is the boy okay?”

“Yes, he’s okay—but there is something fishy going on, and I intend to find out what,” Amelia said with a sniff.

…

“Madame Bones,” Professor McGonagall said in surprise as she opened the door to her office. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Amelia regarded the professor she’d come to respect and admire with careful consideration before nodding. “Actually, yes. I would like to ask you some questions about Harry Potter.”

Minerva blinked. “May I ask why?”

“There have been some… _inconsistencies_ that have been brought to my department’s attention. As you are Mister Potter’s head of house, and have had prolonged contact with the young man since he began Hogwarts…”

“Right,” Minerva said, nodding. “Please, come in– I’ll get an elf to serve us some tea.”

Minerva wrung her hands carefully as she took her seat behind her desk, and the two waited patiently as some house elves popped in with a tea tray and some scones, before disappearing completely. Each woman poured herself a cup of tea and helped herself to a scone, and there was a palpable silence before Minerva set her tea down and let out a sigh.

“What do you need to know?”

“When was the first time you met Harry James Potter?” Amelia asked, and Minerva sighed.

“The day he was born,” Minerva said with a sigh. “After I finished Hogwarts, I apprenticed in Transfiguration under Dorea Potter, I acquired my mastery, and was offered my current job after Headmaster Dippett retired and Albus took over the school. Dorea and I kept in close contact, through her late pregnancy and the birth of her son.”

“So you were close to the Potters?”

“Yes,” Minerva said with a nod. “I was a frequent visitor to Potter Manor during James’ childhood.”

“So, you were present when Lily Potter gave birth?”

Minerva nodded carefully, a pensive look on her face. “A sweet little cherub, the boy was. Immediately afterwards, James came to Sirius Black and myself and asked us each to be the godparents.”

“You’re his godmother?” Amelia asked, surprise colouring her voice. _That_ was interesting.

“I am,” Minerva said.

“If you’re his legal godmother, then why was he left in the hands of Vernon and Petunia Dursley in November 1981?”

“I didn’t want to,” Minerva said. “I watched that blasted house _all day_ while Harry was here, recovering from that harrowing experience. I knew they were the worst sort of Muggles imaginable, but Albus had a point I couldn’t refute– Sirius Black was a dangerous threat to us, and I wasn’t blood kin.”

“Sirius Black,” Amelia said with a laugh. “Given the evidence I’ve seen, it may very well be that he’s an innocent man whose name has been degraded and slandered. Am I to understand you signed your legal rights to Harry Potter to Vernon and Petunia Dursley?”

“I did,” Minerva said tightly. “I thought it was the best thing to do– Albus assured me that the blood protections Lily had placed on Harry would keep him safe.”

“Tell me, Minerva– has Albus told you anything about Harry’s upbringing? How much about Harry’s escapades at Hogwarts do you _truly_ know about?” Amelia asked, leaning in.

“…should I bring out the firewhiskey?” Minerva said, frowning.

“Oh, that probably wouldn’t be a terrible idea,” Amelia said dryly. “We’ll probably need it.”

…

Ron Weasley didn’t often like himself. Every day seemed to be some kind of comparison contest with the rest of his family and his friends. He wasn’t as academically gifted as Hermione was. He wasn’t famous and well-loved like Harry, didn’t have a star position on the Quidditch team or the personal attention of the headmaster.

Not a troublemaking prankster like his elder brothers Fred and George–but not a serious student, unlike Percy.

Not aspirational and talented with his craft like Bill or Charlie– and not the baby of the family, like Ginny, the daughter his parents had longed for.

Ron knew that his jealousy and feelings of inadequacy weren’t in any way helping him– but the last couple weeks had done nothing to assuage the building torrent of emotions bouncing around his head like an angry harpy’s nest. He’d been plagued by more than just the inadequacy of being the undistinguished youngest son; there was something lurking that he didn’t want to admit even to himself.

Ever since puberty had begun, Ron had begun to notice things. The scent of Hermione’s shampoo, the softness of her hair, the feeling of her chest underneath her jumpers when she wrapped him in a hug, the way she snorted when she laughed and even the way she wrinkled her nose in annoyance when he and Harry flouted studying for playing chess or Exploding Snap.

However–he _also_ noticed the way Harry’s jaw tightened when he made up his mind and made a decision. The way his eyes lit up when being given small gifts and shown even the most basic kinds of kindness; the little ways he picked at things out of nervousness, and the half-crooked smile he gave when he was amused.

The small little boy that Ron had befriended on the train– hell, _saved_ from those annoying Muggles– was growing into something Ron may… or may not consider… _attractive._ That morning in the Great Hall, when Harry so proudly defended his friends, it warmed a place in Ron’s heart that he struggled to comprehend.

Ron sighed and started pacing the lonely room he was standing in. The sound of his heeled shoes clicking and clacking on the stones made him even more aware of what he’d agreed to in his desire to be a loyal and good friend to Harry, and how it had raised even more questions in his mind.

He was wearing a skirt. Before now, Ron hadn’t put much stock in the whole idea at first; crossdressing and parading around Hogwarts like that, and the very idea that it was within his reach to let that small part of him that talked an awful lot get louder.

He wasn’t just the spare to the heir, he didn’t even _rank_ in whatever legalistic inheritance of the Weasley family—he was the sixth child and the last son in the family. However, that didn’t exactly make thinking the unthinkable a tenable option. What would his family say?

His mother would either fly off her broomstick handle by sending him one of her famous Howler rants, or she’d merely _tsk_ at him and shake her head before going back to whatever it was she was doing.

His Dad would probably be supportive–he always was, but he was also far removed from the daily ongoings of the family, owing to all the time he spent at work being overtaxed and overworked by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

Bill and Charlie didn’t even factor– they were off on their own lives now, getting away from their ‘smother’ and being rebellious, wild children. Mum hadn’t taken Charlie’s coming out very well, and Ron was paralyzed to think about what she’d do if he gave serious thought to the things in his head.

Fred and George, pranksters that they were, would probably take it in stride and then relentlessly tease and harangue him for those choices. Ron wasn’t sure he had the emotional fortitude and stability to deal with that nonsense.

And then Ginny– she’d probably take it the best of everyone, but even then, Ron didn’t want to butt into her territory. She was right mean with hexes, and there wasn’t exactly a whole lot that connected the two other than a mutual appreciation for Quidditch.

Would flipping a little switch of sex really make the difference? What would that look like for him? He could still play Quidditch– Mum always downplayed it, but she’d been infamous in the sixties for her skills as a Beater. Molly “Mad Witch” Prewett had led the Knareshedge Banshees to three championships before she’d married Dad and had Bill. Ginny was also a Quidditch prodigy, so it wasn’t like _male or female_ made a big difference there.

Chess– one of his favourite idle hobbies under the sun wouldn’t change either. Merlin’s hells, it had been his grandmother, Cedrella, who brought him up with the intricacies of chess as a gospel, teaching him both Muggle and Wizarding chess and all the stratagems and styles that one could use to win.

He wrung his hands uncertainly. He was no closer to coming to a decision than he was this morning, though he did think there was a path forward from here.

…

Albus gave a wary look at the assembled people in the room. Minerva was giving him the mother of all death glares, joined in this effort by Poppy, who also seemed intent on turning Albus to ash with her eyes. The two ornery Hogwarts staff was joined by a rather severe and schooled Amelia Bones, her lips drawn into a thin, tight line.

Next to her was an incredibly uncomfortable Cornelius Fudge–the man wasn’t twitching and fidgeting like he usually did in Albus’ presence, he was instead staring off at nothing, a firm frown on his face, and his jaw tightening and loosening at random intervals.

Standing in the room too were a number of red-robed Aurors, standing at the ready in case anybody drew a wand.

“Headmaster, last week, during the Weighing of the Wands ceremony, Harry Potter gave an interview to Rita Skeeter and revealed some information about his life. Subsequently, Miss Skeeter reported these facts to the Department in accordance with current child protection laws. Through questioning of Mister Potter, Healer Pomfrey, and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, your name has appeared quite a few times, in connection with some very questionable decisions.”

“Oh?” Albus asked, curiosity in his voice.

Amelia flipped open the folder in front of her. “Harry James Potter was taken from Godric’s Hallow on the evening of October the Thirty-First, 1981 by Rubeus Hagrid, acting on orders from Albus Dumbledore, despite the protestations of Sirius Black. He was brought to Hogwarts for examination, before being then _abandoned on the doorstep_ of Vernon and Petunia Dursley on November the Second, violating the pre-existing chain of custody and legal will of the deceased parents, and violating numerous child care laws in leaving an infant minor exposed to the elements.”

Albus frowned. “It was the safest place for Harry to go– away from the wizarding world and those who might wish him harm,” he defended.

Amelia merely raised her eyebrow. “Testimony given by Mister Potter has revealed _fourteen years_ of extensive abuse and neglect at the hands of his Muggle caretakers. Testimony also indicates you were warned that very night you left Mister Potter on their doorstep that they were, and I quote, ‘the worst sort of Muggles imaginable’,” Amelia continued, causing Albus to flinch.

“Further testimony indicates that Mister Potter’s first Hogwarts letter was addressed to him in the ‘Cupboard under the Stairs’. When Mr. Potter did not respond, you waited several more days, inundating a Muggle household with letters and causing a potential breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Subsequently, instead of sending Deputy Headmistress McGonagall to collect young Potter and take him through the standard Muggleborn introductions, you dispatched Rubeus Hagrid– a man who is disqualified from the right to wand use.”

Albus didn’t say anything, and Amelia sighed.

“Albus, you are quite aware that all Muggleborn children have to be inoculated for dragonpox upon their entry to the wizarding world, correct? At the time of his parents’ death, Mister Potter was too young to receive his vaccinations. For the last three years, he has been exposed, and been _exposing_ Hogwarts to the potential of another dragonpox epidemic. The same disease, I remind you, that killed his grandparents,” Amelia said, gritting her teeth.

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “That covers, at least, some of the aspects of Harry Potter’s life. Now, there is the matter of what has been transpiring in these walls since Harry Potter’s return to the wizarding world in 1991.”

She glanced down at the sheets of parchment in front of her. “A dark wraith possessing your Defence professor in an attempt to steal the Philosopher’s Stone? A basilisk roaming the corridors of Hogwarts, only stopping because a twelve-year-old threw himself into mortal peril to kill it? And then this Pettigrew and Black nonsense…”

She leaned forward. “Just what kind of school are you running, Albus?” She asked, nearly hissing the words at the elderly headmaster.

Albus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “In my defence, I didn’t expect the Dursleys to treat young Harry so poorly. I knew he wouldn’t grow up in the most loving of all households, but he would grow up free of manipulation from those who seek to use him as a political tool.”

“You think Minerva McGonagall would take advantage of the fact that Harry Potter was her foster son?” Amelia said, eyebrows raised.

“No, of course not– I just do not think she was capable of keeping him completely safe,” Albus said. “The Dursleys provided the best option, protected by blood wards created by Lily Potter. As for the other things…”

He sighed. “I have made many mistakes in the last few years. But understand my position– if I raised the alarm bells that Voldemort had returned as a wraith and was possessing someone, I would’ve been packed off to the Janus Thickney ward before I could say Quidditch. As it was, the Minister refused to listen to any and all concerns both last year and in Harry’s second year.”

“You’re not putting all this on me, Albus!” Cornelius spoke up, face flashing red.

“Well, I’m certainly not the evil schemer you’re making me out to be, Minister,” Albus said.

“We’re not saying you’re evil, Albus, we’re saying you are a responsible party in years of unsanctioned abuse on a boy who is the hero of our world,” Amelia said dryly. “Perhaps everyone has been a bit _derelict_ in their duty, and now we have a chance to fix it.”

Albus went to speak, and Amelia raised her hand. “Unfortunately, I can’t keep Rita from publishing her article forever,” she interjected, cutting him off at the knees. “She’s going to blow the whistle on _exactly_ what has happened to Mister Potter, and I have no power to stop it.”

“I see,” Albus said, slightly sourly.

“As well, Mister Potter is going to have to spend a few days at St. Mungo’s in quarantine– for the safety of all students and himself,” Amelia said. “From here on out, Albus, Harry Potter’s well-being and safety will be handled by me and his guardians.”

“Have you decided where to place him yet?” Albus asked carefully.

“He’ll be staying with me, provided he doesn’t hate me for not telling him the truth about being his godmother for so long,” Minerva interrupted, frowning. “I’ll be taking over as his legal guardian for now, like I should have after Sirius got himself locked up.”

Albus nodded. “I was going to suggest the Weasleys, they’ve been like a family to him since he’s returned to our society.”

“They also have seven children and Arthur is well known for being in happy-poverty; I’d rather not place that kind of stress on their home life if I can help it,” Amelia said with a sniff. “There were a few other possible candidates, but I think that Sirius and Minerva are more than capable of figuring out a proper home for Harry to finish his childhood.”

…

“Mister Potter.”

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration book to see Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall looking at him, guilty and apologetic expressions on their faces, flanked by the pink-haired Auror, Tonks, and Madame Bones.

“Hullo, everyone,” Harry said, blinking in surprise. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Amelia sighed, and drew a parchment from her coat. “You remember how I told you during your interview you’d have to submit to a medical examination? I checked your records, and you were never inoculated against dragonpox and some of the other mandatory vaccines issued to new students at Hogwarts.”

“I was supposed to be?” Harry asked.

Amelia nodded. “Unfortunately, the only place equipped to take care of that sort of thing is St. Mungo’s, and you’ll have to go and have this done before you can come back to Hogwarts, so time is of the essence. The last thing we’d want to do is have you miss the First Task and lose your magic to a technicality.”

Harry, much to everyone’s surprise, didn’t put up much of a fuss. He seemed almost resigned to it. After gathering Alice, Harry was taken through the Headmaster’s floo straight to the emergency entrance of St. Mungo’s, where the staff on-hand quickly processed Harry into a quarantine ward.

Dressed in a hospital gown, and sitting on his room’s bed, the door opened, admitting a dark-haired woman with amethyst eyes.

“Mister Potter,” she said warmly. “I’m Andromeda Tonks, I’ll be the healer responsible for you during your stay here.”

“Tonks? Like that one Auror lady?”

“That’s my daughter,” Andromeda said with a smile. “Now, you do understand just what we’ll be doing here?”

“Madame Bones told me you need to do a full physical exam on me, plus you need to vaccinate me against magical disease,” Harry said dryly. “I thought it was probably better just to get it over with than to put up a fight about it. To be honest with you, getting pricked by needles sounds infinitely more pleasant than being handed back to my Muggle relatives next summer ’cause I’m sickly.”

“Certainly a good way of looking at things,” Andromeda said. “You’ll be here for a few days– once we get your exam done, we can start doing all the various inoculations. We have to watch you for at least a couple days just to make sure you don’t develop a negative reaction to them on account of your age, but I don’t anticipate we’ll have any issues. The occurrence rate of negative reactions to vaccinations is very low.”

She drew her wand. “So the first thing we’ll do is mostly some diagnostic charms. As I go over each part of your body, this quill,” she said, drawing a purple quill from her coat. “will record the findings. At the end, we’ll set up a treatment plan for any issues we may find.”

The process took longer than Harry expected, with Andromeda running her wand over basically every bit of his body, frequently tutting and furrowing her brow at some of the results that printed out on her diagnostic parchment. After a couple hours of poking and prodding, Andromeda glanced over the results carefully.

“The good news is, Mister Potter, is that all of the problems you have can be solved with a little time and careful planning,” Andromeda said. “The multiple hairline fractures and damaged bones you have can be fixed with either a quick dash of Skelegro, or a calcium-fortifier potion. All of your scars, except for the famous one, and the puncture wound on your arm of course, can be mended with a little work. The malnutrition will be harder to deal with. The last four years of Hogwarts has done you great credit, but you’re still underweight and underheight for a boy your age. You also have one of the worst eyeglass prescriptions I’ve ever seen in my life. Are those muggle spectacles you have?”

“Yes,” Harry said, blinking. “Aunt Petunia took me to an NHS doctor just before I started primary school, to get eyeglasses.”

“You’ve had the same pair since you were a child?”

“No, but the last time I went was when I was ten,” Harry explained. “Would explain some of the headaches, admittedly.”

“Absolutely, your eyes have certainly changed in the last four years, Harry– wearing eyeglasses that don’t fit your eyes will do nothing but damage them worse than they already are,” Andromeda said with a tut. “Unfortunately the complex ways in which the human eye operates mean we can’t… _fix it_ with a simple wave of a wand; however, we can use spellglass and it should slowly correct your eyes back to 20/20.”

“Then how come Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore still wear glasses?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

“Spellglass doesn’t always fix your eyesight completely, and some people just like to wear them for aesthetic purposes. Last I checked, Albus has perfect vision, he just likes the effect that glasses create,” Andromeda said with a shrug. “Now, let’s get you up to date on your vaccinations.”

…

It was a slightly numb and sore Harry Potter that was laying up in a hospital bed when he was visited by Minister Fudge and Madame Bones. The two government officials were admitted to the room only under the careful supervision of Andromeda, who was firm about them not “unnecessarily riling up her patient”.

“Hello, Harry,” Fudge said genially. “How are you feeling, lad?”

“Awful,” Harry muttered– one of the side-effects of the various rounds of vaccinations he’d been given was a general malaise: muscle stiffness, soreness, and periodic loss of limb function.

“I hope you’re not too upset at us, Harry. We’re only trying to do what’s proper and right,” Fudge said apologetically. “Anyway, uh, we’re here to tell you about some of the developments we’ve had. We determined that while Sirius Black may be innocent, he is… still in need of proper mental recuperation before he can assume full custody of you– to that end, we have assigned _joint_ custody of you to your godfather Sirius Black and your godmother, Minerva McGonagall. It’ll be made formal in a few days, once the pardon for Lord Black is issued.”

“…Professor McGonagall’s my godmother?” Harry asked, blearily. “She never told me _that_ ,”

The Minister and Head of the DMLE were ushered out soon after by a grumbling healer, having come just to inform Harry of his new guardians– they were very ill-prepared for the fact he had not been told who his godmother was. The thought about that in particular lingered with Harry for some time after.

Thinking too hard about it was difficult owing to the malaise. He fell asleep a few more times, the hours blurring together, with periodic visits from Andromeda or one of the hospital elves delivering food for him to stuff into a stomach that constantly demanded more.

The following day, Harry found himself with a new set of visitors.

“Mate, you look awful,” Ron observed, stepping through the door behind Alice, with Hermione, Parvati and Lavender behind him.

“Oh, well, dang,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “I was really hoping to win _Most Attractive Patient_. I suppose I’ll have to send Gilderoy Lockhart a congratulations note.”

“You must be feeling better,” Hermione observed. “If you’re back to your usual cheeky self.”

“I don’t feel nearly as run over as yesterday,” Harry grumbled, adjusting the pillow he was leaning up against. “but my legs and arms are still bloody killing me.”

“How’s the healer been treating you?” Alice asked, leaning in.

“She’s very nice,” Harry said, brightening up some. “Andromeda’s her name. She’s the mum of the Auror lady who interviewed me for the child welfare hearing.”

“Andromeda?” Alice asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod. “Andromeda Tonks. She’s been giving me all my vaccinations and the like, and I’m like ninety-percent sure she’s been getting the elves to give me snacks.”

Alice grinned ear to ear, nodding silently.

“Well, if she’s been sneaking you snacks, maybe you don’t need these,” Parvati said, before proffering Harry a small tray of treacle tarts.

“Parvati!” Harry exclaimed happily, taking the tray from his friend’s hands. “Brilliant!”

“It’s not exactly a secret that Harry Potter has a sweet-tooth the size of a Hebridean Black,” Parvati said with a smile. “And I’ve heard you complain more than once about being stuck eating pumpkin pasties. I figured I’d get you something you like.”

“Deeply appreciated,” Harry said happily. “I do genuinely hate pumpkin pasties. Andromeda tells me I have to keep eating certain foods to help stimulate the potions they’re having me take for malnutrition. Sugar’s a big one, so she’s been doing her best to get me things that _aren’t_ that.”

“Just don’t eat so much you get pukey,” Ron said with a snort.

“No doubt,” Harry said slyly. “I was never much of a sweets person with the Dursleys, so I’m taking it as easy as I can. How’s Hogwarts been in my absence?”

“About the same,” Hermione answered for the group. “People are still being batty over the whole Tournament thing; Malfoy’s… well, Malfoy, but other than that—it’s business as usual.”

She reached into her bag and withdrew a small bundle of parchment. “I took the liberty of asking Professor McGonagall about keeping you from falling behind. She spoke to the other professors about what work you could be doing while you’re in hospital. She said she’d work with you so you wouldn’t fall behind.”

“She’s probably feeling guilty for what she did,” Harry said, glumly.

“What’d she do?” Ron asked curiously.

“She’s my godmother,” Harry said, folding his arms. “I found out from the Minister and Amelia Bones, of all people. She _willingly left me_ with the Dursleys! Sirius at least had an excuse! She didn’t!”

“Oh my,” Parvati said. “I’m sure she had her reasons, Harry. You should at least let her explain herself before passing judgement.”

Harry sighed. “Did nobody want me after it was said and done?” he asked, looking a bit morose.

“Harry, no,” Alice said, suddenly coming around and hugging him. “Of course you were wanted. I let my anger and desire for revenge beat out the small part of me that was screaming I should be responsible… and there weren’t many other people who _could_ take you. We all let you down, and I don’t think I can ever make that right. I’m so sorry.”

Harry allowed Alice to wrap her arms around him and he leaned into her, before he started crying into her robes.

“There, there, Prongslet. I’m here now. I promise, I’ll never leave you again,” Alice said as she comforted Harry by gently rubbing his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! May we say farewell to this Hell Year and embrace a new year where things get better.


	5. All I Want Is The Truth, Just Give Me Some Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquiries are made, Quidditch is played, and across the azure main, people find out just what Harry Potter is capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "Gimme Some Truth" by John Lennon, 1971

“Albus Dumbledore has quite a lot to answer for,” Amelia Bones noted dryly, looking over the stack of notes sitting in front of her. In the conference room with her was the grisly visage of the _real_ Mad-Eye Moody, Cornelius Fudge, Journalist-and-Consultant-to-the-DMLE Rita Skeeter, and Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour. “However,” she continued. “As I say that—I don’t believe there was ever any intent of malice behind the old man’s decisions.”

“Given what you’ve got here, Amy,” Alastor said, tapping his cane on the top of the stack. “I’d tend to agree. I’ve known the old codger for a long time, he’s a good man, but he’s a terrible strategist. A true Gryffindor at heart, throwing himself into things without much thought about what comes next. Many of his most daring and capable acts in both wars revolved around quick decision-making, not prolonged strategy.”

“We can’t just let him go without doing something,” Fudge said, frowning. “The public would have kneazles.”

“Of course not,” Amelia said dryly. “But we need to find a way to do this without politicking about. An important thing we have to figure out is—can we trust Dumbledore to continue as Headmaster of Hogwarts? We are in the middle of the Triwizard Tournament, after all.”

The doubtful looks on everyone’s face made clear that Dumbledore, while not _intentionally_ neglectful, had committed a rather serious dereliction of duty.

“Minnie’s a good lass,” Alastor contributed with a cough. “She’d run the school proper.”

“I don’t doubt that, but aren’t we just loading her up with the same burden as Albus?”

“She’s less than half his age,” Rufus contributed. “And without additional responsibilities from the Wizengamot and ICW, she could definitely get the job done. We’ll let her appoint her Deputy Headmaster of choice, if she so desires.”

“It’ll be Flitwick,” Amelia said. “Either him or Septima Vector. They’re the longest-serving professors on staff now, barring Binns.”

“But he’s been dead longer than any of us have been alive,” Fudge muttered with a snort, before he sighed and rubbed his eyes. “So we’re agreed that Albus will be asked to step down as Headmaster.”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed.

“Too many security incidents, too many students put in peril, too many mistakes. Criminal charges?” Fudge asked, gently tapping his fingers together.

“We’d have to ask Mister Potter about that one,” Amelia said. “It’s entirely up to him and his guardians if he wishes to file charges against Albus.”

“Which we doubt,” Alastor said.

“Which we doubt,” Amelia echoed, nodding. “Mister Potter would not want the three-ring media circus around a trial, and he still does have some admiration for the old man, however minute that might be. We’ll leave it up to him, and, should he be unwilling to go forward with charges and cooperate, we’ll simply ask him for some pretty words about the whole matter to settle the public’s outrage. Now, while criminal charges may or may not be filed, we’re definitely going to levy some civil penalties.”

“Ah, galleons, the grease that keeps the Ministry running,” Fudge said wistfully.

“Cornelius,” Amelia reprimanded the Minister, who had the good graces to look bashful.

“Acknowledging the man made mistakes but not crucifying him is an… acceptable political move,” Fudge said, thoughtfulness evident in his voice. “He gets to retain some of his privileges as elder statesman, but he also gets to pay some form of penance for what he did to Potter.”

“Only one issue—we have no oversight over the Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts,” Rufus said, his eyebrows shooting up to his thinning hairline. “The Board of Governors has that oversight.”

“This is where carrot and stick comes in handy. Either Albus resigns gracefully and accepts the civil judgement, or we press criminal charges anyway. He can either live another day, or die by the sword that is the public opinion,” Fudge said.

A murmur of agreement broke out across the group, and Rita stood up, sighing. “My editor has agreed to our request on holding the story until Sirius Black’s exoneration is complete. The day after, it’ll likely front page news,” she said, a frown on her face.

“When exactly is this planned?” Rufus asked, glancing at the Junior Unspeakable with a neutral expression.

“The twenty-sixth,” Fudge said, grimacing.

“…The day of the First Task?” Moody asked. “Seems like we’d be putting the Prophet into a hard position.”

“Well, the first task isn’t exactly a massive news story—it’s a rather simplistic trial. The Prophet is far more interested in the results of the other three tasks they have planned,” Rita said, waving her hand dismissively. “There’s more papers to be sold in a scandal like this than the Triwiz, at least as far as Cuffe’s concerned.”

“Fair,” Moody said, nodding his head. The logic was sound.

“We’ve got until then to iron out the last details. Let’s get cracking, everyone,” Amelia said, clapping her hands together.

…

Ron anxiously clutched the small slip of parchment in his hands as he climbed the steps towards McGonagall’s office. One of the prefects had given him summons earlier that day, and Ron wasn’t quite sure what _exactly_ his Head of House wanted from him. He hadn’t been doing anything other than studying with the Salem group, letting Hermione keep his mind away from worrying about Harry—and he supposed that keeping _him_ in line was taking her mind off it too.

Knocking on the door a couple times, he waited quietly, rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently.

“Enter,” she said, and Ron opened the door and stepped in.

“Ah, Mister Weasley, good, take a seat.”

“Right, sure, Professor,” Ron said, taking a seat across from his professor’s desk.

“Mister Weasley, I’ve been going over some of your more recent essay work in Transfiguration,” McGonagall began, glancing down at a desk full of homework assignments. “And I’ve noticed a decided uptick in your in-class performance since Halloween. I’m curious as to the explanation for your sudden improvement—for the last four years, you’ve typically turned in work that resembles less a structured essay and more a poor attempt at copying another student.”

Ron cringed at her implications, and looked down at his stockinged feet. “I’m tired of being Harry Potter’s _dumb_ friend.”

“Mister Weasley, please look up at me,” McGonagall said, causing Ron to jerk his head back up to face his Head of House. The woman’s stern face had softened slightly, and she came around the desk and leaned against it, looking carefully at the young teenager.

“You were never Mister Potter’s _dumb_ friend, Mister Weasley. You were perhaps a little lazy, and didn’t challenge yourself like you should, but you are not dumb,” McGonagall said. “What brought all this on?”

“I dunno how to put it to words,” Ron said, rubbing the back of his head, glancing away from the professor. “After things Harry’s said to me, what my own brothers’ve said to me, I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot lately.”

“Your brothers? What did Frederick and George say to you?” Minerva asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Nothing bad,” Ron said defensively. “They said they were proud of me for being such a good friend to Harry, for… choosing to dress this way in solidarity, and I realized that the other four people in this group are wicked smart, and I’m… wicked not. I’m the stupidest child of the Weasley family.”

“None of you are stupid,” Minerva said, shaking her head. “Ronald, you mustn’t compare yourself to your brothers.”

“Why not? Bill’s a curse-breaker, Charlie’s a dragonkeeper, Percy was a prefect and Head Boy, got perfect OWLs and NEWTs, and the twins are likely to have a business empire someday—and Ginny’s a Quidditch prodigy! I’m just an idiot who can’t do anything right!”

“Unless I’m mistaken, your first year, Headmaster Dumbledore gave Gryffindor points for ‘Mister Ronald Weasley playing the best game of chess in Hogwarts history?’”

“The same year that Harry beat You-Know-Who _again_ , and became the youngest Seeker in a Century,” Ron said, frowning. “And Hermione single-handedly sussed out exactly what was going on in the third-floor corridor. I’m just the prat that nearly got Hermione killed that Halloween.”

“You helped stop the Chamber of Secrets crisis while the staff and myself did nothing more than placate the press and government,” Minerva pointed out.

“By babysitting an addled git while Harry killed a big snake and saved my baby sister,” Ron retorted.

“What about Mister Pettigrew and Sirius Black?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Again: Hermione and Harry did all that. Sirius Black broke my leg and I was laid up in hospital for a week,” Ron said defensively. “I’m tired of being in the background of my own life!”

“So what is it, exactly, that you want, Mister Weasley?” McGonagall asked.

“I don’t know. I was going to try out for Quidditch this year, but…”

“Ah, that has been a frequent complaint, and one I wholly understand. This Tournament business has thrown quite a large crimp in everyone’s plans.” McGonagall said sympathetically. “Mister Weasley, you’re entitled to be whoever you want to be. If you want to start doing better in your classes and try out for Quidditch next term, there’s certainly nothing stopping you.”

“But what if it’s more than that?” Ron asked nervously. “Ever since all this Salem nonsense, I’ve been feeling a lot less… _angry_ at myself, and at Harry and… at everything. It almost feels like something just came together and snapped into place.”

McGonagall had a thoughtful expression on her face. “Mister Weasley, give me a second, would you?” she asked, before stepping over to the Fireplace and tossing some floo powder in it.

“Alice White’s office,” she muttered before sticking her head in. She withdrew her head, and gave Ron a brief, reassuring smile. Moments later, Alice stepped through the fire, dusting herself off.

“Minerva, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked curiously, though perhaps a bit guarded.

“Mister Weasley has been having some issues with self-image, particularly where his brothers are concerned. Based on some of his comments, I was wondering if you would offer Mister Weasley a dose of the Tonic.”

Alice blinked in surprise, before patting her coat down and withdrawing the small vial of the blue potion.

“Mister Weasley.” McGonagall looked at Ron carefully. “This is entirely your decision, but if you say you feel happier now than you ever have before, perhaps you should try doing what Headmistress Spellman suggested to Harry—and take the Tiresian Tonic.”

“Become a girl?” Ron asked, wrinkling his nose at the thought—one part of his mind immediately rejecting the idea, but another, deeper inside, seemed to be frozen in awe at the very idea.

“Your change in demeanour coincides with this new social dynamic you’ve found yourself in,” McGonagall said wryly. “It might not solve any problems, and a single dose of Tiresian Tonic only lasts twenty-four hours, mind you. Nothing is permanent unless you want and you can be whoever you choose to be. This could very well give you a chance to… understand yourself better.”

“I need to think on it before I do anything like that,” Ron said, grimacing at the idea of a sudden change. Though…

“That’s understandable,” McGonagall said, gently handing over the potion to the young Weasley. “If you choose to do that or not—that’s immaterial. You’re doing a good job in bringing your grades up to your full potential, and I expect to see it continue through your OWLs.”

“Yes, Professor.”

McGonagall smiled. “You may go, Weasley. Let me know when you’ve made your decision.”

“Uh, right. Thanks,” he said, before practically fleeing the room.

“You think he’d benefit from the Tonic?” Alice asked in the silence that followed.

“You forget, Sirius, that I’ve been here for a very long time,” Minerva said, earning a squawk of denial from Alice. “I’ve seen many students get their hands on Tiresian Tonic and experiment. Ron Weasley wouldn’t be the first to make that decision, and I doubt he’ll be the last.”

“How did you know I was-”

“Good lord, Black—I had detention with you and Potter every other day. I can tell exactly who you are through any disguise or enchantment you throw at me.”

“Well, legally, it’s still Alice White,” Alice said impishly. “Nothing I’ve said so far is actually a lie.”

“I figured as much when I spoke with Vesta about it,” Minerva said with a snort. “You were always too clever for your own good.”

“In my family, being clever was just about the only way you avoided being turned into Bella,” Alice said, grimacing. “The rest of my family were idiots, and they’ve all paid for it with interest. Even _I_ paid for it with interest.”

Minerva bobbed her head silently. That much was true, and it was an uncomfortable truth indeed.

…

Harry was silent as he took in the sight of nearly everything he possibly could. He’d been scraping by with his admittedly poorly-matched (though that was merely because it had been _years_ since his last visit to the optometrist) NHS glasses until now, but the switch to spellglass had been beyond all comparison. It wasn’t like taking the fog out from in front of him—no, it was like the fog had completely lifted and cleared and he could see over the horizons to the other end of the planet.

“They’ll take some getting used to,” Andromeda said as she finished putting together his documents for Madame Pomfrey. “If you begin to experience headaches, take a headache reliever and try to not use your eyes for a little while until it kicks in. As your eyes get used to the spellglass and begin to correct themselves the aches should stop.”

“Other than that, I am proud to say, Mister Potter, you have a clean bill of health,” she continued, smiling proudly.

The door to the hospital room where Harry had been staying opened, admitting Alice White, who gave her godson a grin. “Well, look at you. You’re certainly a lot brighter than I’ve seen you in ages,”

“Andromeda fixed all the stuff that was wrong with me,” Harry said, smiling back. “And I got new glasses! They’re spellglass!”

“Good, it was about time you ditched those Muggle readers and got yourself something that actually worked worth a damn,” Alice said softly, before looking at Andromeda. “I can’t thank you enough, Healer Tonks.”

“Don’t mention it, cousin,” Andromeda said, before smirking as Alice cringed in shock.

“How did you know it was me?” Alice asked, grimacing.

“You look like Aunt Dorea,” Andromeda said with a snort. “And you’ve got that same shit-eating grin when you’re happy. I suppose this is to get around the fact that your birth form is still technically a wanted criminal .”

“For the most part, yeah,” Alice replied, sticking her hands in her coat. “But Alice White is a real legal identity now. I’m actually a Special Advisor to the Headmistress of Salem Witches’ Academy, as well as one of their Potions tutors.”

“You? Tutoring Potions? I thought you said the day you teach people Potions is the day James Potter goes bald.”

“I just didn’t want to get stuck in a mastery program with Snivellus,” Alice said, frowning. “Vesta convinced me to do something productive. I’m also technically one of their Divination and Scrying professors, but Vesta agreed that I should be here rather than at Salem for the time being.”

“Hmm—Scrying is its own class?” Andromeda asked, surprised.

“Yeah—Divination is considered a theoretical magic, just like Evocation and General Theory, while Scrying is considered a skill development class. The difference is Divination teaches the general theory of being able to understand trends and predict future events based on those trends—and Scrying is more of the crystal ball, prophecies and dowsing sort of stuff.”

“The Americans like to do things their own special way, then,” Andromeda said with a snort.

“Maybe, but it seems to be working better than Hogwarts is,” Alice observed, before she looked at Harry. “Ready to go, kiddo?”

“Please,” Harry said, sliding off the bed and accepting the folder from Andromeda, flashing a bright smile.

“Take care, Harry. Stay in touch, cousin,” Andromeda said, giving the two a smile of her own.

“Alice,” Alice said. “Call me Alice.”

Andromeda’s smile faltered and she nodded. “I’m sure she’d appreciate that. Stay in touch, Alice.”

As they left the hospital, Harry eyed his godparent with confusion. “What did she mean—I’m sure she’d appreciate that? Who would appreciate that?”

Alice sighed and stopped, before gently pulling Harry into an unused alcove. “Has your friend Neville told you much about his family?”

“Only that he lives with his grandmother, and that his uncle once tried to drop him out of a second-floor window to see if he was a squib or not,” Harry said.

“Nothing about his parents?” Alice asked.

“No. I… suppose I just assumed he was an orphan like me, and his parents were killed by Voldemort,” Harry said.

“Unfortunately, that would’ve been better than what really happened,” Alice murmured, rubbing her head in annoyance. “Alice Longbottom and Frank Longbottom—Neville’s parents—were young promising Aurors. Just after the attack on the Potters, and right before I got arrested, my crazy fucking cousin Bellatrix attacked their home with a couple of her friends, and tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. Neville was hidden away where they couldn’t find him, and he survived the encounter.”

“Wha- why would anybody do that?” Harry said, aghast. “Not that I should really be curious because it’s the Death Eaters, but…”

“I don’t know, but that’s why I took the name Alice. As a… tribute to a good friend of mine who was unfairly taken away from us all at a time where she should’ve had a long and prosperous life,” Alice said bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Alice,” Harry said gently, reaching around and hugging his godparent. “You deserve a lot of happiness.”

“It’ll be alright, kiddo. Things are looking up, aren’t they? Now, let’s get you back to Hogwarts, so you can get your school stuff sorted. You’ve got some catching up to do, I imagine.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me…”

…

Harry’s return to Hogwarts had been well-welcomed by his fellows. As soon as he’d entered the Salem common room, he’d gotten a massive hug from Hermione, who nearly went full steam babbling about how she’d missed him and hoped he was alright and did he get new glasses or what?

“Hermione, cool it, you’re overwhelming him,” Ron said, gently grabbing a handful of her jacket and tugging her back, away from Harry. She gave him a sharp look, before she deflated and accepted that she was being a little overbearing at the moment.

Ron grinned at Harry and gave him a hug of his own. “It’s so good to see you looking better, mate. Whatever it is they did to you, it worked.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said with a grin. “I’m glad to see you too. I’ve been missing your goofy face.”

“Oi, it’s not goofy, it’s majestic, and don’t you forget it,” Ron said, sticking his nose up at Harry.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Harry,” Parvati chimed in, smiling at him. “You do look much more ‘in your own skin’, so to speak.”

“Yeah. So,” Harry said, looking thoughtful. “What exactly have I missed since I got locked up in the hospital?”

Between Parvati, Lavender and Hermione, Harry got a run-down of what exactly had transpired in his absence, as well as the things he needed to catch up on in class. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever been behind, but it was a slight annoyance to deal with the now large pile of work that was waiting for him.

That evening, as Harry sat at his desk in his room and practiced the wand movements for the charms they had been covering, a knock came on his door.

“Come on in,” Harry said.

The door opened, admitting Ron, who looked pensive. “Hey, mate, have you got a moment?”

“Sure, Ron, what’s up?” Harry said, turning to see his friend standing there awkwardly.

“I could use your advice on something,” Ron said, closing the door behind him and sitting down on the edge of Harry’s bed. “I had a conversation with Professor McGonagall yesterday, and… it’s been making me think.”

“You did? About what?”

“My grades. I s’pose it’s not much of a secret that I’m sorta living in the shadow of all my siblings, aren’t I?” Ron said lightly. “Well, I was talking to her about how ever since I joined up with you in this Salem thing, I’ve been doing better in class. I’m not just ripping Hermione off, am I?”

He shook his head. “And the more she and I talked, the more it seemed… like there was something about all this that was making me happy, so, McGonagall had that Vesta lady give me this,”

He stuck out the thing in his hand—and Harry recognized it immediately. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Ron.

“Tiresian Tonic?” he asked carefully.

Ron nodded. “I was thinking… maybe I’d give it a go,” he said, weakly.

“If that’s what you want to do, Ron. Are you worried that people won’t respect you if you… you know, do that?”

“Maybe? I don’t want to overshadow Ginny like all my brothers overshadowed me. That’d just be trading one problem for another,” Ron said, frowning.

“I don’t think Ginny would see it that way,” Harry said, placing a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “I think she’d be over the moon to have a sister, frankly. She’s always seemed a little put out that she was the only daughter in a family of seven.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, I’m just… worried about all the what-ifs and that stuff,” Ron complained.

“Take it from me, Ron—I’d just go full bore and take a run at it. People are going to be unmitigated arseholes no matter what you do, particularly gits like Malfoy. So, you know, do that which makes you happiest. No matter what it is, I’m here for you, mate. Through thick and thin.”

Ron smiled at him and nearly crushed Harry in a big hug. “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for, mate. Thank you so much.”

“I would never ask you to not be yourself, Ron,” Harry said, patting his friend’s back soothingly.

“Don’t think that just ’cause I’m doing this that I’m going to get all soft on you either. I’m still going to be me, just… with different packaging, is all.”

“Naturally, mate. Naturally,” Harry said, grinning. “I’m sure you don’t want to change in front of me, so go do what you’ve gotta do.”

Ron quickly dashed from the room, leaving Harry sitting at his desk with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Good for… her,” Harry said with a nod, before turning back to his work.

Just over a half-hour later, another knock came on his door.

“Come in,” he said, closing his charms textbook and placing his quill back into the inkwell. The door opened, and he turned to see a nervous girl shuffling into the room.

The girl had long flaming red hair and freckles everywhere. At first glance Harry thought it was Ginny, but Ginny looked distinctly more like Arthur—this girl, however, looked more like Molly.

“Ron?” Harry asked, his face widening into a grin. “Look at you! You’re looking positively fit, mate.”

Ron blushed. “You’re just saying that,” she said, a smile on her face.

“No, seriously. This is a cute look for you. How are you feeling about it?”

“Like the giant sitting on my chest has been lifted and I can _breathe_ ,” she said, excitedly.

Harry gave her a grin. “You’ve still got the height of when you were a bloke,” he said, cocking his head. “But it… fits you better here, I think.”

“It’s a little different,” Ron said, nodding to herself as she gently patted her hips and waist. “Mum’s going to flip her shit.”

Harry snorted. “Your Mum will be delighted no matter what. Though, I think you probably need to tell your siblings, and not publically or in Gryffindor.”

He walked back to his desk and quickly scribbled something down on parchment, before folding it and handing it to Hedwig, who quickly took off through the small window on the far side of the room, disappearing from sight.

“Now, let’s go find Alice so she can transfigure your clothes to be a little fitting. No offense, Ron, but I can see your nipples.”

“Oi!” Ron said, folding her arms over her chest. “Okay, so I’m not _used to this yet_. Don’t crucify me for it.”

“I’m not, I’m merely saying you may want to get some girl advice before showing yourself off to everyone. Even Lavender’d probably be able to help you out.”

“What about Hermione?”

“I love her to bits, but she’s the type of girl who keeps it practical unless she absolutely has to put in the effort,” Harry said, deadpan. “That, and fashion isn’t her thing.”

“Fair,” Ron said, rubbing her forehead. “Alright, you go play interference and I’ll go bother Lavender and Alice?”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

As Ron went to go gather Lavender and Alice from their rooms, Harry stood in the corridor waiting for the Weasley siblings to arrive—which they did, about a half-hour later. Fred, George and Ginny were all looking quite happy at the invitation.

“Oi, Harry,” Ginny said. “Nice of you to remember we exist.”

“I’ve been in hospital the last few days, Ginny. You know that,” Harry said, eyebrow raised. “Can’t fault me for that, can you?”

“I was only joking,” Ginny said with a grin of her own, as Harry opened the door to the common room for them.

“So this is the Salem common room,” Fred said, thoughtfully.

“Yeah, and if I find any spying or pranking stuff left behind, I’m going to use you as my next practice dummy,” Harry said.

“Harsh,” George said with a grin. “But not uncalled for.”

“I know you two a little too well,” Harry said, smirking at the two elder Weasleys. “Anyway—I asked you here for a particular reason, and that reason is Ron.”

“Ron? What about our ickle brother?” Fred said, leaning forward. “He isn’t making an arse out of himself, is he?”

“No, nothing like that,” Harry said with a grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s just… ah, well, I’ll let Ron explain it. Ron?”

“Thanks for keeping them distracted, Harry,” Ron said, drawing everyone’s attention.

Ron stepped out from where she was standing by the door to Lavender’s dorm. Her jumper and worn trousers had been hemmed a bit with some transfiguration and now fit her more feminine physique.

“Surprise,” she said weakly, looking at her three siblings with some trepidation.

“Ron?” Ginny asked, mouth open. “is that you?”

“Yep, uh, it’s me,” Ron said, giving them a crooked grin. “What do you think?”

There was a beat of silence for Ginny stood up, her eyes looking over Ron for a few moments, before she darted over to her and wrapped the awkward redhead in a big hug.

“I have a sister! Wicked cool!” Ginny said, grinning.

“Ron’s… a girl,” Fred said, blinking. “I actually wasn’t prepared for this.”

“Me either,” George agreed. “If this is what you want, Ronnie, then we’re behind you. One hundred percent.”

The twins stood up and walked over to their sibling and joined the family hug.

“What brought this on?” Fred asked carefully.

“I think it’s been brewing for a long time,” Ron said thoughtfully. “And this Salem stuff was really the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“You look a bit like Mum,” Fred observed, flattening down some of the hairs on Ron’s head that were standing up. “I guess now it’s a bit more obvious, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Ron said with a lopsided grin.

“Are you going to change your name?” Ginny asked.

“I… _maybe_?” Ron said, blinking. “I don’t know what I want my name to be—maybe I’ll ask Mum and Dad about it, see if they have any ideas. Oh, Mum and Dad. How are they going to feel about this?”

“Dad won’t give a toss, and Mum might be a little hand-wringing about it but I think she’ll be fine. Knowing her, she’ll probably come here to hug you and talk to you about what you want going forward.”

“We’re proud of you, Ron,” George said, giving his new sister a kiss on the forehead.

“Ew, come on, George. Just ’cause I’m a girl doesn’t mean you get to be all affectionate and weird about it,” Ron said, scrubbing at her forehead.

“You may as well just get used to it, Ron,” Ginny said with a roll of her eyes. “Look at it this way, when we both make the Gryffindor team next year, we can unseat these two tossers as the fearsome duo of Weasleys.”

“Keeper and Chaser extraordinaire,” Ron said with a snort.

“Damn right,” Ginny said, looking smug.

Harry slipped back into his bedroom, giving the Weasley kids time to talk amongst themselves. He was happy for his best friend—Ron deserved that kind of happiness, and he was super proud of her for breaking past that last bit of self-doubt and all that stuff.

“Now if I can just survive this tournament, maybe there’s a chance we can all have a happy life or something,” Harry said with a snort, shaking his head as he glanced at the stack of books on his desk. There was plenty left to do before he could even consider relaxing.

He sighed and went back to studying the banishing charm.

…

Harry awoke on the morning of November 26th with a pooling sense of dread in every fibre of his being. He was worrying but he wasn’t worrying _too much_. It was a flying task; he would do fine. However—he had no idea what the specific details of it were, and he was going up against a literal Quidditch World Cup star in the form of Viktor Krum.

He already knew just how good of a Quidditch player Cedric was—and then there was Fleur, who was a wildcard in her own right. He had very little idea about what Beauxbatôns did with broom sports, but he wagered it was on equal footing or slightly better than Hogwarts.

His chances of winning whatever flying challenge they had… seemed okay—particularly if they had to use a provided broom and weren’t allowed to use their personal ones. Harry trusted his, but if Krum had the advantage of being _comfortable_ with his broomstick… he didn’t exactly fancy his odds in comparison.

The roiling anxiety in the pit of his stomach didn’t waver even the slightest as he padded out of the shower and dared to look at what the house elves had brought him today. It didn’t surprise him much to find that instead of a neutral uniform or something Gryffindor-ish, instead he would be representing something called the Salem Wildcats.

After getting on the long-sleeved black lycra shirt and athletic shorts, he pulled on the bright red uniform top. The uniform itself had a couple patches on it—on the front and back had a large white numeral emblazoned across the chest outlined in orange and a dark shade of grey.

The team name was sown just underneath where Harry’s collar-bone was, and an incredibly vicious cat’s head adorned his shoulders. The rest of the uniform was easier, following it up with a pair of dark grey pants adorned with white and red striping, a pair of black cleated shoes, and the requisite black elbow and knee pads. After finishing the whole thing, he had to admit—he looked pretty good. It made the stuff that Hogwarts was wearing almost completely antiquated.

He made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, ignoring the strange looks he was getting for his attire—given what he’d been wearing over the last couple months he had gotten used to the strange looks. Plonking down in a seat on Ron’s left side, he helped himself to some breakfast in an attempt to quell his growing anxiety.

“Are you going to be alright, mate?” Ron asked gently, looking at her friend with a frown. “You’ll be brilliant at it, you know that, right?”

“Am I going to be brilliant at it, Ron? I’m going up against _Viktor Krum_ , of all people. He’s a World Cup athlete!”

“You could give him a run for his money,” Ron insisted. “He’s World Cup-class, but that doesn’t mean much. Bulgaria had a lot of luck in the run up to the finals, and they still lost _despite_ Krum catching the snitch. He might be a great Seeker, but that doesn’t mean he can do it all, particularly if he hasn’t got proper support.”

“I guess,” Harry said, still feeling a little deflated, though grimly determined to see this through, even if he was utterly devastated by the three older champions.

After picking at his breakfast with little to no enthusiasm, Harry made his way down to the Quidditch pitch early, hoping to get at least a few minutes alone to get his breathing under control. As he neared the locker rooms, he saw Professor McGonagall standing aside, holding something under her arm. The feeling in his chest sunk lower—she was probably the last person he wanted to interact with right now. At least until he could put together the things he wanted to say, to demand accountability.

“Potter,” she greeted warmly, nodding her head at him. “Good luck, today.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said not-so-warmly, giving her a half-smile. “Am I the first one?”

She nodded, before extending the object under her arm to him. It was a hard plastic helmet that resembled something Harry had seen in Dudley’s sports magazines—covering American football.

“This is a lot bigger than the usual Quidditch helmet,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb on the hard plastic shell.

“It seems Salem takes potential injury far more serious than we do,” McGonagall said wryly. “In you go, Potter. They’ll come retrieve you when the time comes.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry murmured, brushing past her into the locker room, carrying the helmet in his hands. He set it down on the low bench in the room and sat down next to it, taking advantage of the still and quiet—and the distant sounds of people filling the Quidditch pitch as a means of finding his balance.

“You must’ve gotten here early,” came Cedric’s voice.

“I needed to get some alone time before all this kicked off,” Harry said, glancing at the Hogwarts champion, who was decked out in his usual game-time yellow and black uniform. “I’m right nervous about it. Something Quidditch related against _Viktor Krum_?”

“Right?” Cedric asked, with a snort. “Glad I’m not the only one. They expect us to compete against him?”

“Ron said something to the effect of– he’s a great Seeker, but he’s not a one-man Quidditch team. If they’re having us do something Quidditch adjacent but without the support structure of a standard team, he’ll be just as likely to roger something up as us.”

Cedric blinked and grinned. “I wish I’d have heard that this morning before I tossed up all my breakfast. Would’ve been dead useful to not be stressing about it.”

“It’s only the first task,” Harry said, trying to reassure the older boy. “If anybody should be worried about getting obliterated, it’d probably be me.”

“Nah, you’re the best Seeker I know,” Cedric said, waving his hand. “I only beat you in a fluke, and truth told, I wasn’t impressed with Krum’s flying at the World Cup– I’ve seen you do far more daring things than him in your games against Slytherin.”

Harry gave Cedric a smile. “Thanks, I think.”

“It was a compliment,” Cedric said dryly. “Is this what Quidditch players in America wear?” He asked, looking at Harry’s uniform.

“At least at Salem Academy, I guess,” Harry said with a small chuckle. “I guess they take concussions a little more seriously than we do.”

“I guess that helmet would be a solid protection against a bludger,” Cedric commented, gently taking Harry’s helmet in hand and knocking his knuckles against it with an impressed nod. “And is this visor charmed?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said with a nod. “and the protective facemask would keep me from eating another snitch,” He muttered.

Cedric started snickering, and earned a resounding punch in the arm from Harry.

“You git, don’t laugh,” Harry said, starting to laugh himself. “Has _every_ year since I started here all been the same thing? Am I constantly making an arse of myself?”

“I think for most people, they don’t quite realize the sorts of crazy things you and your friends get into. I think most people just assume you were touched a bit after you blew up You-Know-Who.”

“I’m not touched, thank you very much,” Harry said with a sniff. “I’d like to think I’m incredibly sane and well-put-together considering the circumstances.”

“What do you mean?” Cedric asked.

Harry blinked and looked away, frowning. “You’ll find out soon, I’m sure.” He said, the exhaustion clear in his voice.

Cedric said nothing, and merely frowned in response.

…

Alice Dorea White was a complex woman– and that was incredibly simplifying things. As she stared into the mirror of her bathroom, the crashing waves of self-loathing and impostor syndrome were beginning to bubble up again from the froth of her emotions. It was hard to believe at times that a mere year and a half ago, she was rotting inside the cruel walls of Azkaban, losing all semblance of hope for survival.

Slowly going mad in her own head– if the starvation or Dementors didn’t kill her first.

But, she’d somehow endured. She’d done the unthinkable and broke herself out of prison– and in the process given the government probably the biggest black-eye on the face it’d had since they’d locked her up to start with.

That completely bonkers experience had involved a lot of misunderstandings and culminated in being saved _twice over_ by her godson who should have had very little reason to actually genuinely care about if she lived or died. She felt like the worst godparent ever. She was supposed to be the one to save her godson from harm, keep him safe from those who wished him ill. But he’d had to save her not just once, but now _three times_. She knew that the pardon papers she was holding in her hand was… purely a result of Harry’s own testimony forcing the willingness of the Ministry to pull the wool from their ears and listen.

But she’d had found a new life, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to being Sirius Black anymore. As Alice White, she was a well-regarded member of the Salem Academy staff, and she had a loving girlfriend who was more than happy to ignore the murmurings of nepotism from the Educational Council.

It had only taken a debriefing with the Department of Magical Affairs to determine Sirius Black was an innocent man, and that Alice White fell under the purview of the _Tiresian Protection Act_ which permitted for easy, legal identities to be established for Tiresian Tonic users. With that, Sirius’ Potions mastery had carried over to America, as had the extremely high marks Sirius had earned on the Divination NEWT.

With those under her belt, the EC could no longer ignore her credentials merely because she kept Vesta Spellman’s bed warm.

If Vesta knew she’d had that idea just now, she’d probably get bonked on the head or hexed into next year. Alice knew she still suffered from personal image issues, and Vesta had been very… attentive and kind and supportive, and… well, it was uncharitable to merely describe herself as a bed-warmer.

Vesta’s opinion, she was at pains to say, was that Alice was an angel, worthy of a pedestal to sit upon and laurels to be given.

But regardless of all this– Alice was struggling with the decisions she had to make in the future. How could she… make Harry choose? How could she take away all he’d ever known? But she didn’t want to give up Harry to Britain either. Her godson had suffered so much, and deserved peace. He deserved to be free of the obligations that kept him chained.

Freedom was what they all deserved.

…

Fleur and Viktor arrived soon after, and the awkward silence in the room was a little much for Harry, whom spoke very little after the uncomfortable silence had settled over Cedric and him. Eventually, the pointed silence was pierced by the return of Madame Hooch, who was their escort to the pitch.

As they marched onto it, Harry cringed briefly as the sheer volume of the number of people packing the stands filled his ears. There were more than just students now, it was also dignitaries, visitors, various people coming to witness the spectacle that was the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.

“Welcome, visitors, champions, dignitaries…” came the booming voice of Minister Fudge, echoing over the stadium with a bombastic joviality that Harry had rarely seen from the constantly constipated-looking politician. “… to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament!”

The cheering grew even louder– Harry was rather surprised that such a thing was possible, and winced some at the sheer volume. He lost the plot of whatever Minister Fudge was barking on about, before he noticed Ludo Bagman walking out onto the pitch, waving at a cheering crowd.

Harry was only vaguely aware that Ludo Bagman had, at one time, been a famous Quidditch star. Clearly that was long ago, if the shabby robes and limping gait were anything to go by.

He stood before the four of them and grinned. “Champions!” he called out. “Your challenge today is quite simple– a game of Quidditch!”

Four champions merely looked at the man in disbelief.

“However,” he said, drawing a hushed ‘ooh’ from the crowd. “This is no mere game of Quidditch. Each of you will play the role of a Seeker, your goal is the same as you would expect– catch the Golden Snitch… but there is more to this than meets the eye.”

“You must combat bludgers enchanted to target you, and attempt to catch a snitch that is actively fighting back and trying to lure you into harm’s way. Your goal is to either catch the snitch first, or successfully break the enchantments on all the bludgers.”

Harry blinked. There was _no way he was this lucky._ He basically had to play a repeat of that second-year game where Dobby tried to maim him with a bludger?

“In the interest of fairness,” Bagman said genially. “All four of you will be playing using the same broom– the Nimbus 2001– courtesy of Nimbus Quality Broomsticks, the number one selling broomstick manufacturer in all of Britain!”

He cleared his throat. “The typical rules of Quidditch are in normal effect, however– because you will not have Beaters around to protect you, you may use any non-destructive spell to deflect the bludgers away from you.”

“When I blow the whistle the first time, the snitch will be released– when I blow the whistle the second time, you and the bludgers will both be free to begin the hunt. Are you all ready?”

Harry pulled his helmet on, and the roaring sound of the crowd became dulled and less obvious. It was far easier to think now, and he was surprised at how easily he could see with the combination of his new spellglasses and the charmed visor. Taking a deep breath, he accepted the offered Nimbus 2001 from Bagman, and prepared to launch.

Bagman blew his first whistle, before drawing a golden snitch out of his pocket and tossing it into the air. Immediately, Harry could see that indeed– it was no mere golden snitch. It briefly flickered like it was electrified, and flew in a corkscrewed, wonky pattern– none of the typical patterns that one could expect from a snitch.

Bending his knees, Harry prepared as Bagman went to blow the whistle a second time, his wand clutched in his left hand. This was something Harry hadn’t really done before, flying with one hand while using his wand with the other. When the shrill whistle was blown, Harry kicked off and immediately went up into the air.

It took less than thirty seconds for the first bludger to come flying at him.

“Bloody hell! _Depulso!_ ” Harry said, and the bludger ricocheted off of Harry’s banishing charm and went flying off towards the ground. Harry decided that sitting stationary like he did most of the time as a seeker was not going to work. It was going to be more exhausting flying around in an irregular pattern, but it would help him more if he wasn’t a sitting duck.

As he began to fly around the pitch, periodically redirecting a bludger back towards the ground (and once towards Viktor Krum who banished one towards him, the pillock), Harry began to watch each of the other champions for what they were doing. Viktor was doing much the same as he was, circling like a shark in the water, his eyes narrowed as he tried to spy the wonky little snitch.

Cedric was struggling a bit to avoid the bludgers, frequently weaving in and out of their paths, banishing them safely away from everyone.

Fleur for her part wasn’t interested in catching the snitch, but she was definitely trying to break the enchantments, frequently trying to stop the bludgers in their path to get a good read on them. Though apparently they had put something on those too, as each time she did, she seemed to jolt like she’d gotten a nice burst of electricity.

Her method did remind Harry to try something, based on the very same game he seemed to be replaying on a grander scale.

While one of the bludgers was honing in on Cedric’s broom, Harry lined up behind it and fired off a general _finite incantatem_. As he expected, they had accounted for that. However, the spell did briefly cause the bludger to stutter before dropping unceremoniously to the Earth before starting up again. Cedric gave him a thankful look before peeling off again.

This was the general modus operandi for some time as each of the four champions hammered away at the puzzles and the snitch. Krum had been shadowing him closely, and after a few minutes Harry realized why– Harry was, despite his protestations otherwise, considered the best Seeker to play for the four houses since Charlie Weasley. Krum must’ve heard this, and was trying to use Harry’s home-field advantage to his own benefit.

Harry grumbled and started trying to think of a strategy to use to break Krum’s shadow. Just as he was ruminating on that, he had a sudden idea…

Would it work like that?

He went back to mirroring Cedric’s more erratic behaviour, weaving in and out from the bludger paths, earning a slightly harrowed look from Krum, who seemed convinced Harry was in the path of actually catching the Snitch. Changing from a pensive to an offensive posture, he nearly cheered as he witnessed Krum following him into the fray.

At the last possible second as Krum nearly overtook him, Harry dropped into a Wronski feint, pivoting his loaner broom down and hurtling towards the ground at break-neck pace. When Harry’s nerves finally got the better of him and he pivoted back up and twisted away, he heard the sound of someone crashing into the ground with a dull thud.

Harry turned to see a shining blue shield having popped into existence, insulating the ground of the pitch from the skies. He spied Krum sprawled flat out on the ground, staring up at Harry in a dazed shock.

“… _Potter’s pulled off a Wronski feint, sending Krum into the dirt!_ ” came the voice of Ludo Bagman in shock, earning a mixture of jeers and cheers from the crowd. The jeers, no doubt, were from fans of the man who had caught the snitch at the Quidditch World Cup. He swore he could hear Parvati cheering louder than everyone else.

Harry pivoted his broom and shot off around on a circuit, eyes narrowed in search for the Snitch. He even noticed that Fleur had largely given up trying to disassemble the charm work, and was prowling for the snitch like the other two remaining contestants were.

He _did_ briefly spot the snitch, but before he could go after it, he ended up having to dove-tail out of the path of several bludgers trying to bean him on the head. While he was twisting out of a barrel roll and straightening up, he heard a klaxon.

“ _Game halt! Fleur Delacour has caught the snitch!_ ”

The bludgers stopped and immediately fell to Earth, much like marionettes with their strings cut. The Beauxbâtons section broke out into cheers, and there was a smattering of polite applause from basically everyone else.

“Fleur Delacour of Beauxbâtons, for capturing the Snitch, wins a full score of fifty points!” came the voice of Ludo Bagman over the cheers. The blonde looked proud, perhaps a little smug at the same time.

“Harry Potter of Salem Academy, for his masterful performance of the Wronski feint, has received forty-five points.”

Just as before, a great deal of cheering broke out, and Harry grinned bashfully towards the section where all the Salem Academy representatives were sitting– including his friends. Ron was grinning like an idiot at him, her eyes gleaming with glee at his performance.

“Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts, for his exemplary maneuvering and deftness with a broom, has received thirty-six points.”

The cheering was the loudest thus far, with Cedric looking humbled at everyone’s acclaim– even third place was worthy of celebration in this game.

“Viktor Krum of Durmstrang, by agreement of all the judges, will receive a compensatory score of twenty-five, as he was removed from the Task by injury.”

The applause for Krum was… muted at best, with only Durmstrang and a handful of Quidditch fans cheering for the professional player. Harry kinda understood why. He had been thoroughly humiliated in front of everyone by a fourteen year old. He hadn’t _intended_ on humiliating the Bulgarian, but… well, how else was he supposed to get Krum to stop shadowing him?

As they landed, Cedric had almost immediately appeared by Harry’s side and, grinning like a maniac, clapped his hands on his shoulders.

“Harry, that was bloody fantastic! How on Earth did you pull that off?” Cedric asked, and Harry gave a sheepish grin.

“I just… went for it,” Harry said wryly. “I wasn’t trying to make a big splash with it, but I remembered that Krum did it to that one Irish seeker during the World Cup and figured he might fall for it himself. He was… kinda cocky about his chances of winning.”

“Well, it was bloody great,” Cedric said. “I almost wish I wasn’t graduating this year, I want to play another proper match with you.”

“You’re just being polite,” Harry murmured.

“No, seriously, you’re good enough to go pro,” Cedric enthused.

“Yes, you are very good at Quidditch,” came the voice of the blonde Beauxbâtons student. “That was a thing of beauty you did there, Mister Potter.”

“Harry,” Harry insisted. “Thank you for saying so– and congratulations on winning, Fleur.”

“Ah, it was pure luck,” she said lightly. “It, ah, sort of fell into my lap, you could say?”

“That’s usually how it goes,” Cedric said flatly. “Something weird happens and someone just kinda lucks into grabbing it.”

“Better that than a game that goes on for several days without end,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. He sighed and rolled his shoulder. “That was fun, though… I hope Krum’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Cedric said, dismissively. “I’m sure that’s not the worst injury he’s ever gotten in a Quidditch match. In fact– I _know_ it isn’t,”

“Well, I’d still hate to be the guy who accidentally tanked his career,” Harry muttered, tucking his broom under his shoulder and following Cedric to the locker room.

…

Across the mighty sea, an island stood upon the azure main with rolling hills and a comfortable college-esque campus standing among the trees and wildflowers. Along the fringes of the island were soft, loamy shores, with a large harbor on the far northern side, where a number of sailboats stood, the waves of Massachusetts Bay lapping against their weather-treated wooden boards. The winter sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, and at seven o’clock in the morning, Salem Academy was already buzzing with activity.

When news had first reached them that their school had inadvertently been entered into the Triwizard Tournament, and that they would be represented by the well-known Harry Potter, it had sparked immense curiousity and interest from everyone.

That curiousity had grown with time, now culminating in an almost… anxious waiting to see if this little British boy could, in fact, be a Salem witch.

Despite the protestations of their British counterparts, somehow, MTN (“Magic Television Network”) had been able to get cameras into the grounds of Hogwarts– it had been a legal argument, that since Wizarding Wireless Network, Britain’s own wizarding radio apparatus, had been able to attend, that MTN had the right to broadcast the events for their American audiences.

So, the girls of Salem Academy were watching closely to the events of the First Task in their cafeteria. Dozens of young ladies of all ages clustered together conspiratorially whispering as Ludo Bagman’s commentary filled the air. The fast-paced, hot-tempered competitiveness of the First Task had everyone enraptured, particularly at the sight of this almost unimposing raven-haired youth flying around in a Wildcats uniform.

Enraptured most of all was Vesta Spellman, who was concerned for her girlfriend’s godson and his safety. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she saw the faintest ghost of a smirk cross Harry Potter’s lips, before the kid swung his broom down and dove. A gasp of shock erupted in the room full of her students, and several of the Quidditch club members had jumped out of their seats.

“No freaking way!” one of them called out.

“… _Potter’s pulled off a Wronski feint, sending Krum into the dirt!_ ” came the voice of the British man– Bagman, if Vesta recalled correctly.

The sight of Viktor Krum being outmatched by Harry Potter had sent a ripple of cheering through the crowds of Salem’s students, with several of the Quidditch club members _enthusiastically_ telling their friends and fellow students of just how _insane_ this was. She frequently heard mentions of famous football players like Steve Young and Barry Sanders being name-dropped in comparison to what the young Potter was doing to the famed World Cup athlete.

“Headmistress! Headmistress!”

The call of one of her students drew her attention away from the television in which the commentator for MTN Sports was quickly trying to explain the significance of what had just transpired. She glanced to see one of her seniors– a senior who, at the same time, was also the President of the Quidditch Club, and Captain of the Salem Wildcats.

This also happened to be her niece, Sabrina.

“Headmistress, you _have_ to get Potter here next year,” she said. “If he’s _anything_ like that on the regular, I want him for the Wildcats.”

“Miss Spellman. Sabrina.” Vesta said sharply. “I can’t exactly force Mister Potter to attend Salem, if I may remind you. Furthermore, he is _technically_ not permitted to attend our school. We are not a co-ed facility. The current scenario… is not tenable in the long-term.”

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “But if it will make you feel better, my dear niece,” she said wryly, “I will speak to Alice, but I would not hold your breath. Harry is very loyal to his Gryffindor Lions, and I doubt Alice and Minerva would ever agree on him abandoning Hogwarts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you figure out what professional sports team the Salem Wildcats uniform is based off of, you'll earn some props from me. Here's a hint: On the day this chapter is being published (January 9th, 2021), they're playing in the NFL wildcard, their first time appearing in the NFL playoffs in over ten years.


	6. Love Her Madly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships form, the truth comes out, and sometimes you must bend to the will of public pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of lost track of time. I was too busy hyping myself up for Sunday's game against New Orleans, and so I didn't bug my copyeditor enough. Update took a bit longer than expected as a result, but I'm here now! 
> 
> Chapter 7 will be published this Friday.
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song "Love Her Madly" by The Doors, 1971.

Harry cast a suspicious eye at the grinning faces of the Weasley twins and the crystal goblet they had presented to him. The drink inside was a fizzling, bubbling, gently smoking electric blue, and smelled distinctly of a whole melangé of fruits, but none that Harry could identify with certainty.

“It isn’t a prank this time, honest– on the honor of the Marauders.” Fred said over the loud music that was filling the Gryffindor common room as the post-First Task celebrations gradually grew to full swing. “We’re actually wanting your opinion on it.”

Harry blinked, but his suspicion didn’t fade. He took a small sip from the goblet and smacked his lips. The drink tingled on his lips and in his mouth, but it felt very refreshing. Glancing at the contents and then back at the twins, he raised an eyebrow silently.

“We’ve been thinking of expanding,” George said. “That one lady that’s keeping her eye on you lot, Alice? She was telling us all about some of the things we could do with our operations to cover more ground. If we’re just selling gags and pranks, it could backfire on us if the old codgers that run this place decide we’re a threat. So, food and drink ideas.”

“We call that Blue Fizz,” Fred contributed. “We based it off Muggle fizzy drinks, you know the stuff. But caffeine doesn’t quite work on wizards the same way, we found out. So we experimented with some other things and found something that gives energy while not being too… over the top. We’ll have other things that do that.”

“It’s good,” Harry said, smacking his lips again. “I can’t quite place what it tastes like, but it… just tastes like _good_ fruit?”

“We’ve actually been working on a drink based on Amortentia,” Fred said conspiratorially, leaning towards Harry. “It’s said that amortentia smells like the person you’re in love with– like how for me it smells like broomstick polish, Sleekeazy’s and vanilla. Or Forge over here, for whom it smells like cinnamon, chocolate and the Yuletide dinner back home.”

George blushed and punched his brother in the arm. “Don’t be a git, Gred. Harry doesn’t need to be bothered with trying to figure out who we’ve got a thing for. He’s too busy trying to not get killed.”

“Fair, brother of mine,” Fred said idly. “Anyway. We’ve been thinking of creating a drink that… sort of… changes to be the flavor you like the most using similar properties. Snape won’t give us the time of day for something like that, so we’re going to ask Alice again. She’s been a proper right help.”

“Alice likes to see people succeed,” Harry said gently, thinking on his godparent with a wistful smile.

With a jaunty wave, Fred and George disappeared back into the crowds milling around the common room, though Harry did spot them bothering their newest baby sister, whose face had turned a shade of crimson as bright as her hair while they teased her for something inaudible.

“Knut for your thoughts, Harry?” came the familiar voice of Parvati.

“Hey, Parvati,” Harry said, glancing at his friend. “I dunno, I’m just thinking about a lot of stuff.”

“You know I’m always around if you want to chat,” Parvati said, reaching out and gently placing her hand on his arm. “About anything. You could even tell me about what you, Hermione and Ron got up to during our first three years. If you’ve heard even half the rumours-”

“People like to be a bit over the top when they speculate,” Harry said with a snort. “You’ll find out the truth soon enough I reckon, once Rita Skeeter gets around to publishing it in the papers.”

“She’s _what_?” Parvati asked, eyes wide.

“Soon everyone’ll know just how much fun my life’s been, even if some of it is rather sanitized for the sake of everyone’s privacy. I don’t want to talk about all that right now, anyway. I’m trying to enjoy the party.”

“Right,” Parvati said, grabbing Harry’s wrist. “Dance with me then.”

“Parvati, come on, I’m utter pants at it,” Harry said, tugging away from the crowd of people dancing to the muggle rock music.

“Get your Gryffindor spirit in place, Potter, c’mon,” Parvati said, finally managing to tug Harry to his feet. She wrapped her arm around Harry’s waist and guided him into the crowd of people, and soon the two found themselves vibing along to the rest of the crowd. As Harry awkwardly swayed to the music, his eyes never left Parvati, who seemed to be very in sync with the tune in question.

The song itself, Harry didn’t particularly recognize. The Dursleys had never let him listen to contemporary music– Vernon often decried rock music with racial epithets, and banned it from the house entirely when Harry was young. Now, though, it felt rather natural.

“George found a bunch of old records laying around behind one of the bookshelves,” Parvati said with a sly smile. “Seems someone’s mum had a thing for Muggle bands and smuggled it into Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Harry asked, surprised. “Hardly think about wizards really caring about Muggle music since they’ve got Celestina Warbeck and the Weird Sisters. It’s a little weird how few musical artists exist in the magical world.”

“Lily Evans had great taste in music,” Parvati said knowingly, and Harry froze.

“My mum?” Harry asked, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah, apparently she smuggled records into Hogwarts for years, since enchanted record players are a thing,” Parvati said lightly. “They’re dated ’71 to ’77, all with some notes stuffed in them addressed to all sorts of people, including someone named Marlene, and another named Alice.”

“Neville’s mum,” Harry said. “Alice Longbottom– I guess they must’ve been friends.”

“Probably, if they were in the same year. It’s sorta like me and Lavender, or something like that,” Parvati said idly.

“What all did Mum smuggle in?”

“Everything from rock to disco. Maybe our Alice knows more about why,” Parvati suggested with a grin.

“I’m surprised George didn’t tell me.”

“Well, I’m sure they will. They wanted to use them tonight for the party. Maybe one of them will give the records to you for Yule?” Parvati suggested.

“Maybe, but I guess as long as it gets some use here, it should belong to Gryffindor,” Harry said. “As long as I get a chance to look through them, I don’t really mind.”

The song changed to something with a little more step.

_“Don’t you love her madly?”_

Harry cast a glance at George, who was standing innocently by the turntable, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. Before Harry could react, Parvati gently looped her arms around Harry’s neck and the two danced in place to the tune.

“You know, a lot of girls grew up dreaming of meeting Harry Potter,” Parvati said softly, casting her brown eyes up at Harry, who blushed. “Those books always painted you as this hero in shining armour.”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Harry said hesitantly. “Ginny used to be like that.”

“I was surprised when we came to Hogwarts that you were this small, shy guy. You weren’t full of false bravado… but you were definitely a knight in shining armour.”

“I don’t like to see my friends hurt,” Harry said. “The mountain troll was… I don’t know, how could I let someone get hurt and not do my part to save them? Hermione didn’t deserve to be put in danger like that.”

“You’re a good person, Harry Potter,” Parvati said with a smile. “A true Gryffindor.”

She leaned up and kissed Harry on the lips, sending shock through the young teenager’s system. He was… _kissing someone!_

She withdrew and looked at him carefully before smiling again– though this time her smile had a mischievous glint. She drifted away from Harry and quickly vanished into the corner of the common room, where Harry could see her and Lavender having a discussion and casting regular glances back in his direction.

Suddenly, he jumped as someone slung their arm around his shoulder, and he glanced to see the smirking face of Ron Weasley.

“Ron, were you the one who got your brother to put on that love ballad?” Harry asked, glaring at his best friend.

“Well, it was sort of a group effort,” she replied, sticking her nose up in a haughty way. “Parvati mentioned wanting to get some alone time with you, George and I came up with the idea of her dragging you out for a dance and then putting something lovey-dovey on… and Hermione helped us pick the song. Did you know she’s got taste in music?”

“My parents always said that ‘Love Her Madly’ was a good song,” Hermione said dryly, draping herself on Harry’s other shoulder. “I’m proud of you for not mucking that up, Harry.”

“It took me by surprise,” Harry said, blushing again. “I didn’t expect her to kiss me.”

“This may come as a shock to you, Harry,” Ron said idly. “But you’re not exactly a bad looking bloke, you know that, right? You’re pretty fit, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I’m _fit_?” Harry asked, incredulously.

“You’re pretty fit, yeah,” Hermione said with a nod. “Are you a world-class bodybuilder? No, but you’re definitely athletic now that you’ve gotten some of your health issues taken care of. You were… a bit peaky before.”

“Plus your eyes,” Ron said.

“Were you always this horny for me, Ron?”

“I won’t answer that question on the grounds of self-incrimination, Mister Potter,” Ron said with a snort. “I’m just being objective, anyway. I’ve got someone else I’ve got my eyes on.”

“Me too,” Hermione said with her own grin.

“Do you now?” Ron asked, eyebrow raised. “Anybody we know? Should be concerned about? I’m not going to have get my brothers to beat them up, am I?”

“Certainly not,” Hermione said with a scoff. “She’s not that bad once you get to know her.”

“She?” Harry asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, _she_ ,” Hermione said, before she glared at Harry. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Harry said. “Why would I have a problem with you liking girls?”

“Just checking,” Hermione said softly, before untangling herself from Harry. She raised her bottle of butterbeer to him and gave him a grin before making her way back into the crowd.

“We’ve been a good influence on her,” Ron said, watching as she struck up a conversation with Neville and Ginny.

“We’ve gotten her out of her shell a bit, yeah,” Harry said. “For better or worse, we’ve all changed since first year,”

“Yeah, you’ve gotten more sarcastic in your old age,” Ron noted.

“Nah, I’ve always been sarcastic. I’m just less afraid of getting hit than I was as a kid,” Harry said idly, drifting over to the table full of snacks and food and taking a bottle of butterbeer from it. Popping the top, he took a drink of it and sighed.

“So, Sirius is going to get a pardon?” Ron said in a lowered voice, leaning against the wall.

“Yeah, it’ll be in the papers tomorrow. He’s probably gotten it already,” Harry said.

“Mmm,” Ron said. “That’ll be good, at least– you won’t have to go back to those blasted Muggles.”

“That wasn’t going to happen anyway. I think Minister Fudge was about five seconds from emancipating me regardless of the outcome,” Harry said, glancing around the room. “What’s your over/under on Dean and Seamus smuggling in firewhiskey?”

“Actually I think they got caught with some not too long ago. I heard them complaining about the detention they got from McGonagall,” Ron said. “Pretty sure she got it all.”

“Not everything,” Harry said, gesturing to one of the corners of the common room where Fay Dunbar and a few other older students were sitting close to the record player, smoking something.

“My mum would kill me if she ever caught me smoking that stuff,” Ron said with a shake of her head. “That or she’d transfigure me into a tea cosy.”

“I don’t see the appeal of it, myself,” Harry said. “I’m sure… uh, Alice has had some experience with it, but the last thing I need is to get high and then get caught in a firefight or something. My luck isn’t that good, you know?”

Ron laughed and rolled her eyes. “You do need to live a little, Harry. You can’t live your life with _that_ kind of fear,”

“Not fear, just… cautious optimism,” Harry defended. “You’ve been around. You know how it is sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Ron said with a shrug.

Harry glanced at his watch. “You know, it’s getting close to curfew. We should probably head back to the Salem commons,” he said.

Ron blinked and then sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Bloody hell, I guess that’s the downside to not living in Gryffindor Tower, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but at least we get rooms of our own and bigger beds?” Harry offered, and Ron snorted.

“You’re just happy you don’t have to hear me snore,” she accused.

“I can’t say you’re wrong, Miss Weasley,” Harry said with a smirk. “You could clear a forest with how loud you were. Even silencing spells barely worked.”

“Hmpf, some friend you are,” she said. “I’ll go get Hermione, you get Lav and Parvati?”

“Got it,” Harry said, before setting his drink down and wading through the crowd to where Parvati and Lavender were.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, smiling at the two. “Um, we should probably get going. We’re going to end up out after curfew if we stay much longer.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Parvati said, glancing at her wristwatch. “You’re right!”

“Ron’s getting Hermione, so we should head that way now,” Harry said.

“I’ll go ahead and make sure they don’t leave us behind,” Lavender said, quickly excusing herself.

Parvati rolled her eyes. “She’s subtle, isn’t she?”

“Like a grindylow attack,” Harry said wryly.

Parvati shrugged and set her drink down before taking Harry’s hand in her own. Harry blushed but didn’t pull away, and the two made their way towards the door.

“We hope you had a good time, Harry,” Fred said as they neared the portrait hole. “Don’t worry about those records; we’ll make sure they’re in good condition for you.”

“Thanks, Fred, George. I had a great time.”

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, kids,” George said impishly, before the twins disappeared into the crowd again. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Can you believe them?” he asked Parvati, who merely smirked at him.

The five made their way back to the Salem dorms, where Alice was seated on the couch with Vesta– both women looking rather disheveled, like they’d been having a _very_ good time with each other while the five were up in Gryffindor Tower.

“Your intuition is so good, darling,” Vesta said idly as she fussed with her blonde hair.

“I knew what time curfew was, and how long the five of them would be able to stay at the Gryffindor party,” Alice said in a low voice. “Though I wish we had more time, love.”

“Ah, it won’t be long before we meet again,” Vesta said gently, pressing her ruby lips to Alice’s own. “You know I can’t stay away from you forever.”

“I know. It’s just rough being so far away,” Alice said, her voice full of longing.

“The kids are here, let’s not gross them out,” Vesta said.

“Harry’s a mature kid, he knows that sometimes love is a thing that happens…”

“Alice, darling, please,” Vesta said. “I won’t be gone forever.”

Alice let out a whining noise before wrapping Vesta in a hug and kissing her cheek.

“Dinner tomorrow night?” Alice asked gingerly.

“You bet,” Vesta replied. “Bye, my love. Bye, everyone,” she said, before she strolled to the fireplace and flooed out in a flash of green fire.

“Have a good time, Alice?” Harry asked with amusement in his voice. “Get up to no good while I was away?”

“Something like that,” Alice replied, smoothing her hair out. “You lot enjoy your party?”

“It was a blast,” Harry said. “I didn’t know Mum smuggled in Muggle music during her time at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, they found Lily’s collection? Bloody hell, that takes me back,” Alice said wistfully. “Many nights of underage drinking and smoking joints were spent to those records. Glad to see they’re being used for teenage rebellion even now.”

She glanced at them. “Am I going to need to make any Sobriety or Hangover potions?” she asked with mock-seriousness.

“No, all of us are clean,” Ron said. “My mum would kill me otherwise.”

Alice nodded. “Just checking– always helps to be responsible,” she said.

It was then that Alice noticed Harry and Parvati’s hands, and she lit up.

“Harry, my darling godson…?”

“Knock it off, Alice,” Harry said, glaring at his godparent, before turning to Parvati. “I had fun tonight. Say, um… would you like to go to the next Hogsmeade weekend with me? You know, on a date?”

Parvati grinned. “I’d love that, actually. I know your last one you spent a bunch of time getting interviewed. We can do something else that isn’t nearly as mind-numbing.”

“I’d like that,” Harry said, grinning sheepishly. “Can I, um, kiss you?”

“Of course.”

Harry leaned in and gently pecked Parvati on the lips. The cute romantic moment, however, was broken quickly.

“Excellent work, Harry! The mark of a true ladies’ man!” Alice cheered.

Parvati started laughing, and Harry blushed and shoved Alice away from him in annoyance.

“You had to ruin it, you git!” Harry said with a grunt.

“Sorry,” Alice said, though her face betrayed the fact she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “Hey, Harry, mind sticking around for a minute? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said dryly. “Out here, your quarters or mine?”

“It’d be best if we sat out here. Godparent or not, impropriety matters,” Alice said with a snort.

“Clean the couch first. I don’t want to know what you were doing on it,” Harry said, gesturing at the couch that Alice and Vesta had been snogging on. Alice rolled her eyes, drew her wand and cast a thorough cleaning charm, before sitting down and gesturing for Harry to do likewise.

Harry sat down on the soft cushion and watched as Alice flicked her wand behind her back and a sheet of parchment flew in from the other room into her hand.

“Take a look,” Alice said. “It’s official.”

Harry took the parchment from Alice and looked it over. Indeed, it was an official pardon and full exoneration issued to Sirius Black for the crimes which he was accused of both in 1981 and in 1993– as well as a full legal restoration of rights therein.

“This is fantastic,” Harry said. “It took them long enough to give it to you. Can’t believe it took me spilling my guts about everything.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Harry,” she said gently, placing her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “But to be honest with you, I don’t know if I’m going to stick around Britain, even now that I have my pardon.”

“You’re not?” Harry asked, shocked.

“I’m… actually rather happy at Salem Academy,” Alice admitted. “It’s a fresh start, something I didn’t get much of in my life owing to who my family was. At the same time though, I don’t want to lose you.”

“Well, then we need to think of what we’re going to do,” Harry said with some certainty. “You want to stay in America, and I’m stuck here in Britain. We can figure something out that doesn’t leave either one of us feeling miserable and guilty.”

“I could talk with Minerva about-” Alice started, only to be cut-off by Harry’s annoyed grunt. “What?”

“Professor McGonagall,” Harry began. “I’d just rather not talk about her right now, if you don’t mind, Alice. I’m still upset with her, you know.”

“I… I guess I understand why,” Alice said softly. “Either way, I’ll talk to her about us spending the summer in America.”

“I’ve never been to America before,” Harry said. “Is it nice there?”

“It’s got a charm all its own,” Alice said, honesty in her voice. “We’ve got plenty of time to talk it over and make our plans, Harry. We’ll figure something out, I promise. At least now the Ministry isn’t a problem anymore.”

“Should I be thanking God for small mercies?” Harry asked, sarcasm evident in his voice. “This should’ve never been a problem to begin with, and now Fudge is going to reap all the credit for righting an incredible wrong.”

“At least they’re willing to admit they’re at fault. I’m sure Amy will keep holding his ass to the flame until he stops being such a recalcitrant git for good.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry muttered.

…

Dread pooled in the pit of Harry’s stomach the following morning. He had very little idea what the public reaction would be to… the truth of his life. Who would be hurt by this? Who would benefit? How would people treat him after all was said and done?

It was a complicated mess, and Harry wasn’t sure how he should be feeling. Relieved? Angry? Sad?

He had absolutely no idea. So, for now, he defaulted to his usual anxiety which whispered to him that “impending doom is getting ready to make his day that much worse”.

Hermione, in all her radiant wisdom, did offer a tidbit of something for Harry to think about that morning.

“A famous Muggle once said that ‘there are whole decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen’, and I think that’s very apt for what these last few weeks have been, and what we can probably expect in the near future.”

“You think it’s that much of a bombshell?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Of course,” Ron chimed in before Hermione could respond, stepping out of her room in the middle of tying her hair up in a ponytail. “You’re a legend to pretty much anybody who isn’t part of… _His_ club. Most of the average wizards and witches are going to be right put off at Dumbledore and whoever else is responsible for your misery. You should’ve been treated like a real hero, not discarded like old milk bottles.”

“She’s right,” Hermione agreed. “Of course, there’ll be those who will laugh and sneer and point at you and mock you for being who you are, with all your traumas and issues– but ultimately, people will notice and care about how you were treated. You deserved then, and still deserve now, so much better from people.”

“Thanks,” Harry said hoarsely, feeling the creeping onset of tears from how passionately his two best friends seemed fit to defend him. “You two’re the best.”

“For better or worse, Harry, we’ll always be here for you,” Hermione said soothingly.

It was a balm for the soul, and Harry flashed his friends a thankful smile. As one unit, the “Wildcats” made their way down to the Great Hall for a spot of breakfast. Ron had offered to skip it entirely and have breakfast in their common room, as was their right as a ‘visiting school’, but Harry had been quite firm that he needed to take on the rumour mill and the lot head-on, and face what needed to be faced.

Fortunately, when he entered the Great Hall, the Daily Prophet had yet to arrive, and he was able to seat himself before a bowl of porridge and fruit with minimal fanfare– with the exception of some further congratulations from some of the other students who had seen him thoroughly trounce Viktor Krum in Quidditch.

Strangely– Harry didn’t mind the fame and congratulations he got for that. That came honestly, stemming from an achievement he made without anyone else’s doing, and also it didn’t involve him being constantly reminded that he was a bloody orphan.

“I’m right pissed we’re not having a proper Quidditch Cup this year,” Fred groused into his muesli. “We’ve got Viktor Krum, the literal poster child for professional Quidditch– and we’ve got Harry Potter, the only bloke that’s managed to turn the Wronski Feint on him… and they can’t play a proper match with the right support? Bloody travesty, is what it is!”

“They’re using the pitch for all the tasks,” George chimed in with his own frustrated expression. “We could figure out a way to set up a makeshift one, but…”

“It’s almost not worth the effort because most people would rather opt-out. Too bad Wood’s not here anymore, he’d browbeat all of Gryffindor into joining,” Harry said with a snort.

“It isn’t Gryffindor that’s the problem– it’s the other teams,” Ron contributed. “Slytherin would probably pile in, but I doubt Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff would– at least, not with all their usual players. They’d trot out impromptu reservists who wouldn’t know which end of the broom is the right one.”

“That’d actually be kind of interesting,” Harry murmured. “Getting a bunch of people together who aren’t on any of the Quidditch teams for some impromptu exhibition matches? As a symbol of… well, unity?”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Ginny said– which was met with murmurs from others who agreed. “Tell more, Harry.”

“So okay, we have a pretty good idea of what teams are going to do what, but… what if we got Hogwarts students together who _weren’t_ on the school team and had them play exhibition matches against students who don’t typically play Quidditch at Beauxbâtons and Durmstrang? Like, imagine our Hermione as Seeker or Beater.”

“I can’t decide which I’d rather see,” Ron said, ducking out of the way of Hermione’s slap to her shoulder. Ron stuck her tongue out at her friend. “It’s true and you know it.”

“Hmpf,” Hermione said. “I’m not a fan of flying.”

“You liked riding Buckbeak,” Harry pointed out.

“That was different– number one: the difference between a full creature with an impressive wingspan and a charmed household cleaning instrument; number two: I knew that you were in full control. I don’t think I can handle flying a broom on my own.”

“It’s alright, Hermione. I’m sure there are others who’re not on the Quidditch team who’d want to participate. Like… Ginny and Ron, for instance,” Harry suggested. “It’d be great practice for next year for both of them.”

“Are our baby sisters going to be Beaters just like their dear older brothers?” Fred chimed in with a question, flashing doe eyes at his two sisters.

“As if, I’ll either be a Keeper or a Chaser,” Ron said haughtily.

“Agreed– maybe Seeker, if Harry ever wanted to retire with that cup he won last year,” Ginny said playfully.

“I think if I did that, Angelina would be legally obligated to kill me,” Harry said, flashing a glance at the upperclassman who merely nodded in response, her mouth currently full of scrambled eggs.

Noise from the rafters attracted the attentions of the student body, indicating the start of the mail call. The Daily Prophet owls were thorough, spreading today’s hot issue of the newspaper to all the subscribers in the Hogwarts population, which almost immediately set off a riot of whispering and murmuring. Harry winced as Hermione unfurled her copy.

On the front page of the Daily Prophet, overshadowing everything else, was a photograph of Harry– this one clearly taken from immediately after the first task, his helmet propped up on his hip. The headline was in thick, bold lettering:

> HARRY POTTER: A NATIONAL TRAGEDY

It was a neutral enough headline, but one that definitely caught the eye. After the byline attributing the story to “Chief Reporter” Rita Skeeter, the true meat of the story was to be seen.

> _… when first meeting Harry Potter, one would not necessarily expect the Boy-Who-Lived to be humble. Your humble reporter is proud to say that Harry Potter’s humility is a rare gem, a gem created in the furnace of a hostile upbringing, and hardened through his perilous adventures at Hogwarts…_

The story went on to tell the story of how Harry Potter, aged only one year and some months, had been instrumental in the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Though of course, at Harry’s demand, Rita had told a slightly different version of those events– one in which Harry recounted all the times he’d seen his mother’s murder in his nightmares, recalling the bravery of Lily Potter in which she defied a tyrant and gave her life so that he would live. It was a touching tale of a mother’s love and sacrifice– and one, Harry hoped, would spark a discussion more about how his mother was the one to celebrate and cherish, less him.

The story then took the turn into the realm of unpleasantness. It meticulously detailed, using reports from various individuals in the Muggle government and Magical government, the abuses that Harry endured at the hands of the Dursleys, thoroughly laying the blame for this set of circumstances on Albus Dumbledore’s feet. It was an uncomfortable thing for Harry– he didn’t want to blame the Headmaster for everything, but…

It was hard not to, genuinely.

Documenting much of his abuse (but leaving medical specifics out), the story continued with his return to the wizarding world and his years at Hogwarts. To say that Harry’s commentary about the Philosopher’s Stone, Chamber of Secrets and Sirius Black was going to cause a stir, was like saying water is wet.

Harry tried to objectively consider how some people would take it: Here was this teenager. Not just any teenager, but one that was of great importance to this backwards society as a whole. He’s been abused and treated so poorly… the way Rita was putting it, it certainly played him up to be the victim of so many bad circumstances seeking to finally have justice delivered.

And now, in his fourth year, pressed into a tournament against his will, Harry was making the best of it– wasn’t he? Rita praised him for being a symbol to all witches and wizards alike who were defying what society expected of them, and found many people willing to praise him for being a good student and a kind, gentle soul.

It made Harry hurt, ripping the scab off old wounds, but he knew it was necessary for his own peace of mind.

On the same front page, a smaller article appeared– announcing the formal pardon and exoneration of Sirius Orion Black based on the testimony of Harry James Potter and ‘new evidence’ supporting the claim that he did not, in fact, betray the Potters.

Harry was only half-aware that morning as he tried to tune out the students chattering in the halls about what they were reading. Had he been fully aware of his environment, he would have noticed the suspicious absence of not just Albus Dumbledore, but Minerva McGonagall.

…

In another part of Hogwarts entirely, in an not often used classroom on the seventh floor, sat a council of people, along with Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore– as well as Minister Cornelius Fudge, DMLE Head Amelia Bones, and Chief Reporter Rita Skeeter (serving as a press representative and in her interim role as DMLE advisor).

The council of people heading the table were the Hogwarts Board of Governors: Augusta Longbottom, Griselda Marchbanks, Bathilda Bagshot, Phineas Greengrass, and Owain Davis.

“Albus,” came the stiff cadence of Augusta Longbottom, glaring at him with all the intensity of a mother and grandmother who had given most of her family up to the cause the man had championed. “Do you care to comment about these… interesting claims made in this morning’s Prophet?”

“There is a great deal of information in today’s Prophet, my dear lady. To which are you referring?” Albus asked, almost innocently.

“Don’t play coy with me, Albus,” Augusta said in a low voice. “The years of abuse and mistreatment. The fact this school has been put into jeopardy on _three separate instances_ and the only person who seems capable of stopping the madness is a child.”

“What would you like for me to say as an excuse? That I made a terrible miscalculation in leaving Harry with his aunt? That I thought she was enough of a human to treat her nephew with even the slightest bit of love? That I have made many errors in my years as Headmaster, and that I am not omnipotent?”

“Albus, certainly you can understand why we’d be concerned,” Griselda Marchbanks commented dryly. “These are altogether, far too many missteps for a man of your stature and history.”

Albus nodded his head. “And I regret it all,” he said with all the warmth of a man who was still kind and gentle.

“Be that as it may, Albus. We think it is perhaps time you stepped down as Headmaster,” Griselda said, a soft tinge of regret in her voice.

“Excuse me?” Albus asked, eyebrows raised.

“We don’t doubt that you are one of Hogwarts’ finest Headmasters, but the fact remains that… there is considerable legal ground for Mister Potter to take us and you to ruin,” she replied, looking a bit contrite, but no less firm in her conviction.

“Harry would never do that,” Albus protested. “And I am more than certain that Minerva would never approve such an action.”

“Please do not speak for me, Albus,” Minerva said tartly. “While I would not recommend to young Harry to press criminal charges against the school for the danger he has been placed in by _all_ of our failures, I would not deny him the right to do so if he wanted– and neither would Mister Black.”

“I’m afraid the Ministry agrees whole-heartedly with the suggestion that you resign, Albus,” Fudge said wryly. “You must give the public something. If you refuse to step down from your public positions, the Ministry may have no choice but to press charges against you for the endangerment of all the students here. Please don’t draw this out further than it needs to go.”

Albus regarded the room quietly before nodding. “It seems your minds are made up, and nothing I say will influence the issue.”

“Unlikely,” came the dry retort from Augusta.

“In that case, I have no choice but to accede. I will tender my resignation as Headmaster of Hogwarts tonight. I presume you will be appointing Minerva to my place?”

“Yes, that is the most likely solution,” Fudge said. “Albus, you are saving us a lot of heartache and wasted time by accepting this graciously– it is appreciated.”

Albus simply nodded, and rose to his feet. “Is there anything further you require of me today, Madam Marchbanks?” he asked carefully.

“No, Albus. We appreciate you and all you’ve done for Hogwarts. You may go,” she replied with a nod.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, and left the room. Minerva only barely held back a choked sob as the realization set in.

“It is indeed an unpleasant set of circumstances,” Augusta said quietly. “However, hopefully we can move forward with new purpose– and can avoid any further disruption of Hogwarts’ day-to-day operations with this transition. Minerva, if we confirm you, will you be able to fill any vacancies with minimal delay?”

“I’m sure I can,” she commented once she’d managed to piece herself together, slipping her emotions behind Occlumency and the other masks she’d perfected over her life. “I’ll need to piece together some staff to cover the patches once I take over, but it’s doable.”

“Good, see to it then. I thank everyone for attending today,” Augusta said, before tapping her gavel to the table. “This meeting is adjourned.”


	7. How Wonderful Life Is While You're In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the exposé on Harry's life continues, questions are answered, and the spirit of healing is a very real thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from "Your Song" by Elton John, 1970

Harry greeted Monday with a sense of… cautious optimism. A new day, a new week of classes, and things to occupy his mind that didn’t quite involve the Tournament. The shock-and-awe of parading around in a skirt had long since worn off– so Harry putting on the Salem uniform was now practically subconscious. After finishing, he slung his bag around his shoulder and waited patiently for the rest of his friends to be ready.

Hermione was the first one to finish, and had squeezed his arm and asked if he was doing alright, given yesterday. Harry had smiled and mentioned that he was actually quite okay for once, and was really looking forward to the distraction that the school week would provide. Parvati and Lavender joined them soon after, the two girls complimenting Harry on getting better with managing his hair– though Parvati leaned in and gently pressed her lips to Harry’s cheek in greeting. Harry blushed and merely returned the gesture, earning a happy coo from Lavender.

Finally, the door to Ron’s room opened, and from it emerged the tall young Weasley. Lavender let out a low whistle, and Hermione chimed in.

“Holy cricket,” Hermione said. “Are you telling me all those years of you being a slob were… because of the fact you hated being a boy?”

Ron snorted and rolled her eyes. “I wanted to make a good first impression. I take it that I… did?”

“You’re going to have boys falling at your feet,” Lavender said mischievously. “Your dear brothers will have to keep them away with both of their Beater bats.”

Ron’s lip curled in distaste and she shook her head. “I’m not trying to get the attention of anyone, let alone _that_ sort of attention. I just… want to feel good, you know?”

“Absolutely, mate,” Harry said gently. “Now, let’s go before things get too hectic in the Great Hall.”

When the Salem five arrived and took their seats at the Gryffindor table, the room was awash with conversations of all various subjects– which he would gladly participate in, of course, after digging into a most unusual breakfast for him. Dobby was always looking for new ways to get Harry something filling without irritating his stomach. Today’s breakfast consisted of salisbury steak and dry wheat toast.

In the middle of breakfast, while he was listening to Hermione enthuse about something she’d read recently having to do with fundamental laws of transfiguration, there was the sound of someone tapping a fork on a goblet. That was the universal sound of “impending announcement” and so the room quickly fell to a hush as they all looked at the tired and slightly pale visage of Minerva McGonagall.

“Students,” she announced loudly. “I am certain that many of you have seen yesterday’s copy of the Daily Prophet.”

A burst of whispering and murmuring broke out, earning a quelling glare from respective Heads of House. McGonagall cleared her throat and continued.

“I wish to inform you that yesterday morning, the Hogwarts Board of Directors assembled to discuss these matters. During this meeting, Headmaster Dumbledore tendered his resignation as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Harry nearly choked on his breakfast and rushed to take a drink from the goblet of juice in front of him. _Dumbledore resigned?!_

“This was not a decision taken lightly, either by Professor Dumbledore nor by the Board,” McGonagall continued. “He wished for me to share with you a few words– though he could not bring himself to attend dinner last night, or breakfast this morning to say them to us all.”

She reached into her robes and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Placing her glasses on her nose, she looked down at the sheet and began.

“Students, faculty. After fifty years as Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is with a heavy heart that I believe it time to resign to pursue greater purpose. My multiple roles as both Headmaster and a political leader have allowed me to lose sight of what is truly important– the expansion of our understanding of magic, and the advocation of learning new and exciting things. I truly wish I could be there with you, but I am sorry to say that the current circumstances do not permit such an arrangement. Each one of you is on an exciting journey, one shared by those who came before you, and I am so proud of the bright young minds you’ve become, even if I do not get to share in the end of your journey with you.”

She stopped to take a drink of water, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You must always remember to stay curious, never allow yourself to lose sight of fun and merriment, and to be the light that illuminates the path ahead.”

The words felt like a bludger had dropped into Harry’s stomach, and he only barely registered that he was crying as Parvati gently wrapped him in a hug and Minerva continued onwards.

“Perhaps we may see each other again, in happier times. But for now, I shall continue my work as best as I know how. There is a great wild world out there, just ready to be explored. Bon voyage, Albus Dumbledore.”

The room was dead silent, and everyone Harry glanced at looked like they’d just gotten punched in the gut. Harry felt miserable– and worse so, he felt like the walls were beginning to close in. His heart was beating too fast, like it was going to leap out of his chest. Roughly rising to his feet and disentangling himself from Parvati, he took off in a fast walk out of the Great Hall, disappearing from sight completely. As the panic in his chest began to bubble and stew, he made his way back to the Salem commons– and curled up in his bed, where he sobbed, harder than he’d ever had in his life.

It was all he could do.

It felt like an eternity before the door opened again.

“Harry?” came Parvati’s voice.

“Go ’way,” Harry said into his pillow. “I don’t wanna talk.”

“Harry,” Parvati said softly. Harry felt her sit on the bed and a hand gently placed itself on his back, and began to rub in a circular motion. “It’ll be okay.”

“How can it be alright? All the things that have happened, and me opening my mouth to the press is what drove Dumbledore out of the castle!” Harry exclaimed, fighting back tears again. “I feel like a real git.”

“Nobody thinks you’re a git for doing what you did. You don’t deserve to suffer just to protect the former Headmaster’s reputation,” Parvati said matter-of-factly. “A lot of people have had misgivings and doubts about Professor Dumbledore _anyway_ , long before you were even a consideration in all of it. Please don’t beat yourself up over this, Harry.”

“Why is it always me– that these things happen to?”

“I wish I knew,” Parvati said, wincing. “You’re such an honest, kind soul. It’s… rather annoying, honestly, that someone so beautiful at heart as you gets constantly piled on with shite. You, of all people, deserve peace and quiet.”

“Those are two things that I don’t get to have,” Harry said with a tight voice as he cast off the covers and sat up. Parvati gently took his hand in hers and sighed.

“I have a general theory about that, you know?” she asked. Harry looked at her with interest.

“I know that Hermione doesn’t have a very high opinion of Divination, most assuredly due to Professor Trelawney’s… shall we say, less than stellar interpretations of star signs and tea leaves. However, I do think I have an idea as to what underlies all the chaos in your life.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Do you know much about prophecies, Harry?” Parvati asked carefully.

“No, not really,” Harry said softly. “Are they real?”

“They can be. Seers aren’t very common, and prophecies are a very… hmm, imprecise business. Exact wordings can have multiple meanings, and all sorts of things like that. I genuinely think, based on the fact you’ve confronted You-Who-Know as many times as you have, and your scar, and your strange luck of being at the epicenter of nearly every massive ripple in the fabric of everything– that there exists a prophecy with you as a subject.”

“You think?”

She nodded. “You said that Professor McGonagall and… uh, Alice are your guardians now? You should speak to them about seeing if you have a prophecy down in the Department of Mysteries. It’s where all the prophecies made on the British Isles are stored.”

“Really?”

“Yes, though they’re not common, as I said,” Parvati said.

“There was this time in… third year,” Harry said with a wince. “I went back into the Divination classroom for something, I think I might’ve been returning the crystal ball that Hermione tossed after she stormed out. When I got there, Professor Trelawney was in this… trance, and with this raspy, sucking voice, she said… something, I guess it might have been a prophecy. That same night, Peter Pettigrew escaped captivity.”

“There’s a good chance that prophecy is stored somewhere,” Parvati said, her voice serious. “You should really go to the DOM and see if there are prophecy orbs with your name.”

“I will,” Harry said with a nod.

“Ultimately,” Parvati said. “Prophecies… can go so many ways, and too many people have gone around the twist trying to fulfill them or keep them from being fulfilled. Many times, prophecies are entirely fuelled by the belief that they are absolute, and when they’re known, people almost subconsciously try to make them come true. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“That sounds really nihilistic,” Harry said, frowning. “Should I look into it or just try to avoid it?”

“Realistic, really,” Parvati responded. “You should look into it, but keep in mind that prophecies are never absolute. You’ll get through anything life can throw at you, Harry. That’s the kind of person you are. Your endurance, enthusiasm and capacity for good is so tremendous, it makes everyone else look selfish in comparison,” Parvati said warmly.

“You’re just saying that,” Harry said, blushing.

“No, you’re… a good person,” she said, gently leaning over and kissing him on the cheek again. “It’s part of your charm. The naïvete is very cute, because you’ve somehow retained an air of innocence despite your suffering.”

“I’m naïve?” Harry asked with a snort. “I guess I am. I’m bloody clueless when it comes to anything that isn’t Quidditch. Comes with the upbringing I had, I guess.”

“You’ll learn and get more well-rounded and, who knows, someday you’ll look back on all this with a sort of… aloof remembrance.”

“If I live that long.”

“You will,” Parvati said certainly. “You’ll live a long, fruitful, happy life. I just know it, in here,” she tapped her heart. “I just know.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmured.

“Classes are cancelled for the day,” Parvati said. “Everyone, except for maybe a few Slytherins, are completely and utterly gutted about the whole thing– but even Malfoy’s keeping his gob shut. Is there anything you wanna do, maybe to get your mind off things?”

Harry blinked and took in a deep breath. “I would, but first there is something I need to do that I’ve been putting off.”

“What?”

“I need to go have a very long conversation with my godmother,” Harry growled.

…

Harry’s dramatic march up to the Headmistress’ office was a tumultuous one. He felt a lot of raw emotions towards the Scottish matron, but at the same time, had very little idea of what he was going to say to her when confronting her. He couldn’t help but feel hurt, unwanted, unloved. She was his godmother– and she had given him away like it was nothing.

The gargoyle standing at the end of the corridor was unmoving, and looked stoic and resolute as ever. Harry did not know the password and he frowned in irritation. The Headmaster– or Headmistress, in this case, was never _dropped in upon_ unless one had the password. No, they were the ones who provided the summons. A perfect arbiter of all things living in an ivory tower.

He stood before the gargoyle for a minute before huffing and tapping his wand on it impatiently.

“I want to see the Headmistress,” he said at the stupid stone statue. A few seconds later, the gargoyle moved out of the way, allowing Harry to begin climbing the long steps up to the Headmistress’ office. At the top of the stairs, Harry sighed and knocked on the door.

“Come in, Mister Potter,” came Professor McGonagall’s voice.

Stepping through the door, Harry noticed that first and foremost– the room was spartan. Most of the trinkets and items– particularly books, that Professor Dumbledore had decorated his office with were gone, and with it, the room felt a little listless and devoid of life, this void made all the more poignant with the lack of phoenixsong that usually filled the air.

Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk, quill in hand– her shrewd, wry expression watching him carefully.

“Was there something you needed, Mister Potter?” she asked.

“I just wanted to see you, congratulate my _godmother_ for her promotion,” Harry said, his lips drawn into a stiff frown.

McGonagall stared at him briefly before nodding and placing her quill down. “I guess it’s time we had that conversation, aye? This is hardly the proper place for it, Mis-… Harry. Come with me.”

Harry bowed his head and dutifully followed the Headmistress down through the corridors of Hogwarts, before they came to a stop before a large portrait of a bowl of pears. McGonagall reached up and tickled one of the pears, and the portrait clicked, and swung open revealing a doorway.

“Inside, Harry,” she said softly.

Harry eyed her warily before stepping through the porthole. He blinked in surprise at the sight before him. Dozens, if not over a hundred house elves milling about working in perfect synchronicity, preparing food and drink.

“The Hogwarts kitchens,” McGonagall said softly. “I know you stormed out of breakfast earlier– we can discuss this matter over tea and something a little more substantive than biscuits.”

“Headmistress,” one of the elves said, approaching, bowing– not in a deferential ‘servant’ bow, but in a respectful bow among equals. “What might I do for you this morn?”

“Emyr,” McGonagall said warmly. “Would it be too much to ask for a pot of tea and some finger sandwiches for myself and Mister Potter?”

“’Tis no trouble at all, Headmistress. One of our own speaks very highly of the young Potter. The boy saved his life.”

“Really?” McGonagall asked.

“Yes, Dobby– the last hire of the previous Headmaster. Very scrawny young thing, but very dutiful. When I first met him, he made me agree to a promise that he could assist Harry Potter whenever the young lad called him.”

“Dobby is a free elf,” Harry said. “I don’t want him to be at my beck and call.”

“Begging your pardon, young sire,” Emyr said. “You’ve got a notion about my kind that aren’t quite correct. Muggleborn, I presume?”

“Muggle-raised at least,” Harry said. “My parents were magical, but I was raised by my Muggle aunt and uncle.”

“Aye, common misconception among your kind– these peoples of mine are referred to as brownies among Muggle tradition. We were once free-roaming spirits, oft travelling hither and yon these faire isles performing household tasks in exchange for offerings. We were trickster spirits, borne of Magic. When the Statute of Secrecy was passed, our Elven Councils made agreements with Wizards. We would stop visiting the Muggles, and establish a symbiotic relationship betwixt ourselves and their kind.”

“My friend Hermione thinks you’re slaves,” Harry said softly.

“Some of my kin are slaves in a sense, aye. They are abused and mistreated by the ones they bonded to, and that is the unfortunate price that is paid for peace. But not all of us live on the magic of wizards– some have returned to the forests and creeks to feed off the natural magic that passes there, or they form looser bonds with new wizards– like young Dobby did with thine own magic.”

“ _My_ magic?” Harry asked, before shaking his head. “Okay, hold on– one weird thing at a time. So most elves aren’t… treated like the Malfoys treated Dobby?”

“Certainly not, young one– though it is a concern many of us have had, whether the agreement we made was far too self-sacrificing or not. I choose to believe it was for the best, and I take great pride in what me and my kin do here– giving the young ones all the sustenance and nutrition they need to grow hale. In fact, many an elfling here has no master. They choose to serve the school and gain the benefit of the ambient magic your young cohort creates. We sustain ourselves off magic, and have no need for your trivial gold pieces– or your fabrics. We are capable of anything we choose, and we choose the simple practicum of labour.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. Would it be alright if I brought my friend Hermione around soon, so you can tell her what you just told me? She’d believe it more from you than anyone else.”

“That would be just fine, Harry Potter. Now, that’s enough idle chattery from me– I reckon I must get back to my duties. A pot of tea and finger sandwiches for the Headmistress and young sire, it shall be done in two shakes.”

The noble elf disappeared back into the din, and soon Harry found a table, two chairs, and a large pot of tea and a platter of finger sandwiches appearing before his very eyes. Sitting down graciously at the table, an awkward silence was shared between the teacher and student before McGonagall decided to break the ice.

“So, Dobby?” she asked.

“Dobby was Lucius Malfoy’s house-elf,” Harry said. “During my second year, he’s the little bugger that tried to maim me with that cursed bludger. You remember?”

“Filius and I were never able to find out _what_ was wrong with that Bludger…” McGonagall said thoughtfully. “He was trying to kill you and you saved him?”

“He was trying to _save me_ from the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said. “He knew that his master had been involved in planting the diary on Ginny Weasley, so he took it upon himself, despite the risks and over my objections, to keep me from attending Hogwarts to preserve my safety. In the end, after all was said and done– I planted a sock in the diary and tricked Malfoy into giving it to Dobby. Dobby was free, Lucius Malfoy tried to murder me, and… well, here we are.”

“Lucius Malfoy tried to _murder you?_ ” McGonagall said in disbelief.

“That was the first time. He tried again just this past summer, if he was one of the blokes in the crowd of Death Eaters trying to off me at the World Cup, anyway.”

“Is… attempted murder a regular part of your life, Harry?” McGonagall asked.

“Just about, yeah,” Harry said. “But rather this place than Privet Drive, honestly. I’ll take possessed teachers and massive death snakes over dealing with Vernon and Dudley.”

“My word,” McGonagall said.

“Yeah,” Harry said dryly. The silence was awkward, but neither knew really had to approach the conversation. Harry wanted to scream, to throw accusations out, but he knew that there was very little to gain from that.

“Did you not want me?” Harry asked, deciding to throw down the gauntlet.

“Of course I wanted you,” McGonagall replied. “I didn’t want to leave you with those deplorable people. I told Albus that they were the worst kind of Muggles, unfit to raise their own son, let alone the son of Lily and James. However, he impressed upon me that I had many responsibilities, and that raising you would open up a lot of very bad possibilities. I thought that by… giving you up, I was giving you a better chance.”

She shook her head. “It was a terrible mistake,” she murmured.

“Why did you never tell me? Why didn’t _anybody_ tell me? It took four years, and the _Minister for Magic_ before I was told anything about who my godmother was!” Harry asked, anger creeping into his voice.

“By the time you were old enough to attend Hogwarts, it felt like almost a moot point to tell you. I gave up my responsibilities and role as godmother the minute I let Albus talk me into leaving you with those two Muggles,” McGonagall responded. “After that, it became a problem of there never being a good time to bring it up. As it was, it took a great deal of convincing for Albus to sign off on letting you join the Quidditch team. He was afraid it might be a conflict of interest because of who I am to you.”

McGonagall shook her head and sighed. “I just never thought your home life would be so miserable that it would _matter_ ,”

“I still had a right to know,” Harry said defiantly. “You had no right to keep it from me. I’m not just mad at you, you know. I’m also mad at Alice for keeping this from me for as long as she has. I should’ve never been left to Petunia and Vernon’s tender care, no matter what kind of stupid protections were left on me by my Mum.”

“You’re absolutely right, and I promise you will never have to worry about such concerns again,” McGonagall said soothingly. “And should you wish to leave Hogwarts for good after all this is said and done, I will not raise an objection. You deserve to go where you feel the most comfortable and happy.”

“Well, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, Professor,” Harry said. “I haven’t made any decisions about _that_ yet.”

“When we’re not in official school capacity, Harry, you may call me Minerva,” Minerva said softly. “As a symbol of good faith, Harry, would you like to hear some stories about your parents? I know you haven’t been told much about them,”

“I’d like that, um, Minerva,” Harry said.

Minerva gave him a wry smile before getting a thoughtful look on her face. “There was this one time when your parents were in their second year. From the very first moment James had met her, he had been doing everything he could to get the attention of Lily Evans. Of course, she wanted nothing to do with him then. One morning at breakfast, James thought the best way to get her attention was to pull of a monumental prank with everyone’s breakfasts, so he spoke to the house elves…”

…

“Ah, good morrow, sire,” Emyr said, doffing his hat to the young Gryffindor-Salem student. “’Tis a pleasure to see you again. I presume the young maiden on your arm is thine friend?”

“Yes,” Harry said, brightly. “One of my best friends.”

“Pleasured, then,” Emyr said, doffing his hat to Hermione. “Emyr, Chief Steward of Hogwarts.”

“Hermione here had some questions about… the relationship that elves have with humans.”

“Aye, ’tis always an interesting subject of conversation. I would be delighted to answer questions you may have, though time is dreadfully limited by my list of duties. I can do my best to answer your questions punctually,”

“Of course, I would hate to take up your time,” Hermione said with a nod. “Do house elves really see themselves as not slaves?”

“That, my dear lady, is a frightfully complex question. As I explained to your young friend here, the treaties and agreements signed and committed to by the wand-wielders and mine peoples have created a symbiotic relationship. We are wild folk, borne of fae, and we don’t need gold or fabric for payment. We feed upon thine own magic, the very essence of your tremendous gifts woven through the tapestry of all creation. I believe the Mugglefolk do call us Brownies.”

“Brownies!” Hermione exclaimed, slapping her forehead. “Holy cricket, I’ve been going about this the wrong way!”

She bit her lip before turning back to Emyr. “But what about elves who are mistreated?”

“Ah, well, unfortunate bit of grey area, that is,” Emyr said. “Elflings without bonds to heavy magic areas like Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, frequently require the bond of a wizard or witch to sustain them. We’re always happy to serve and to please, and enjoy the delight of others. Some though, fall into the hands of wizards who do so frequently misinterpret the terms of our agreement to leave those without magic behind. Your friend’s young Dobby is a fine example of such things.”

“Dobby?” Harry asked, and Dobby popped into existence next to Emyr. The young elf looked healthier and brighter than he’d had in all the times they’d seen him before.

“’Tis true, what the Steward says. The Malfoys treat their elves as no better than chattel. Few human families are so depraved and black in their dealings. It is a great pleasure for me to serve Hogwarts, and hopefully, whence he reaches his majority, to serve as the official Potter Steward, and oversee the care and maintenance of the Great Harry Potter’s home and estate.”

“What about elves like Winky? She was despondent to be disowned by her master.”

“Elves that have been with their families a great deal of time, Miss– like Winky, do not take separation anxiety well. Many of them either consciously or subconsciously refuse their magic and die. Wizards believe that the granting of cloth, such as socks and trousers, destroys the bond between them. Hardly so– our magic is strong enough that we could stay if we wished. It is more the intent to sever the bond that does it. Winky, in her case, had presided over the raising of children, including her current master.”

“So she’s suffering from separation anxiety, and it’s manifesting as… um, despondency?” Hermione asked, eyebrow raised.

“Quite correct, young miss. Take a look at Dobby. Enthusiastic is he, suffering zero ill health effects from his separation from the Malfoy clan. He gladly accepted his freedom and returned to the magic he most likely nursed from as a sprout, and thence came here to work. Given his enthusiasm to be around the young Potter, and considering his dutiful behaviour therein, he now takes strength from the young Potter’s magic more so than the ambient.”

“So in a lot of ways, it’s… mostly down to how they’re treated by their humans? Can an abused elf leave the service of their… master?” Hermione asked, scribbling her notes down in a notepad she’d pulled out.

“Yes,” Emyr said, nodding. “Though you must remember that we are just as susceptible to victimhood and Stockholm syndrome as you are, and some elves make the mistake of deepening their bonds with masters who have no business forming them. Lucius Malfoy, for instance. I shan’t say it’s a _perfect_ system, for it truly isn’t, but for us, it is workable.”

“What if all elves were free?” Hermione asked.

“Ah, well, you understand we’re borne of fae, correct? Yes, well, mischief sort of runs in our blood. Just as young Potter’s father made merry mayhem here, sowing disorder amongst order– so does our blood call to that. We’re not above playing small pranks where needed, but finding pleasure in service for us keeps us from becoming too obvious and endangering both ourselves and wizards. If we had no bonds, we would return to being wildlings, living among the forests and rivers and living off natural magic, frequently appearing across these faire isles, spreading good cheer and mischief where needed. This day and age, the muggles would catch on too fast.”

“I… that makes a lot of sense,” Hermione said softly. “I don’t like it, but it makes sense.”

“If you wish to see great change, Miss Granger, I would recommend you look into the laws and how they interact with my kin. If there were stronger protections– magic-backed formal bonds that could enact punishment for violation, then perhaps we could see change that allows for those few cases of abuse to disappear, and create greater harmony between our peoples. You seem frightfully motivated, perhaps you could work towards that goal someday?”

Hermione smiled at Emyr. “I think I will,” she said. “Thank you for speaking to me. I… I appreciate it,”

“’Twas nary a problem,” Emyr said with a grin. “I know it can be frightfully confusing to many, seeing creatures such as us, and seeing our devotion to craft. Perhaps, someday, that perception will change.”

…

A handful of days later, in the afternoon of December 9th, Headmistress McGonagall was finishing up one of her last classes as Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The class, in this case, her fourth year Gryffindors (including, therefore, the five Salem-Gryffindor students), were set to transfigure guinea-fowl into guinea-pigs. With little variance, they had all done the task to a reasonable degree. Some of them still had feathers, but that was why they were all still in school. Practice does, after all, make perfect.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat, standing in front of her desk. “If I may have your attention, please.”

It took a few seconds for the class to settle down, but when they did, she gave them an imperious look. “It should come as no surprise to anyone that we are coming up on the Yuletide. As such, as part of the Triwizard Tournament proceedings, we will be having a formal ball. This is a tremendous opportunity for us to socialise with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open _only_ to students fourth-year or above, although, you may invite a younger student should you so desire.”

She noted Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil both murmuring to each other. As she cast them a frown, they squirmed and settled back into their seats. Harry Potter, on the other hand, looked rather self-assured, confident, radiant even. She quirked her eyebrow at him, but he didn’t back down.

Good for the lad. It reminded her much of James Potter, but even then… not nearly as self-aggrandizing as he’d been at that age.

“Dress robes will be worn,” she continued, adjusting her glasses, “and the ball will begin promptly at 8 o’clock in the evening on the twenty-fifth, and finish at midnight inside the Great Hall.”

Murmurings broke out before she cleared her throat again.

“I am not finished,” she commanded. “Now, of course, this ball is designed to be a chance for all of us to be casual and let our hair down and enjoy a night of festivities to commemorate the four champions and the great adventures they’ll be having in the months to come. That does not mean, however, that this is an open invitation to make a fool of yourself, and disgrace the name of Hogwarts. I will be most displeased should anybody act in a manner unbecoming; there will be severe consequences.”

She then glanced at Harry. “This includes even those of us technically belonging to the foreign delegation,” she said– though her words revealed no malice or venom. She knew Harry wouldn’t do anything untoward, he was Lily’s son after all.

The bell rang, and Minerva watched as students began to file out.

However, before the Salem group could leave– and really, before the class even cleared out, Parvati grasped Harry’s hand and pulled him back.

“Harry, I wanted to ask this before anybody else got a shot,” she said, before dropping to her knee, pulling out her wand, and willing into existence a single red rose. “Would you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Harry turned almost as red as the rose he was holding and nodded. “Yes, I’d love to go with you, Parvati.”

“Excellent,” she said, grinning ear to ear. She hopped to her feet, wrapped her arm around Harry’s waist and led him out of the room. The whole thing had happened in a few seconds, leaving not only the Salem students stupified by the whole thing, but a great number of Hogwarts’ students.

“Why’d she have to go and do that? It’s going to make getting a proper date that much harder,” Lavender whined.

“Too bloody right,” Neville muttered aloud.

Minerva snorted as the students began to leave. Good for them, she reasoned. Harry deserves some happiness, doesn’t he?


	8. Ballroom Blitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the fun begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I am hella late with this update! But you have to understand-- number one: this chapter is REALLY LONG. longer than most of the other ones in this fic.
> 
> number two: SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONS BAYBEEEEEEEEE WHEEEEEEEWWWWW FIRE THE CANNONS BOOOOOOOOI you can understand why other things have been a little more on-the-brain recently than this fic. i had to deal with the anxiety of an NFC championship game plus the Super Bowl in a span of about two weeks or so, aye? so... yeah. SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONS BABY FUCK YEAH FIRE THEM DAMN CANNONS BTFO BTFO BTFO
> 
> number three: my deepest apologies-- I don't like to make demands of my beta-reader so whenever she had time, she did her best to copyedit for me. rest assured, even if the updates come a bit slow due to the bottleneck of "life gets in the way", this fic IS 100% complete and is merely pending editing before being posted. I finished it before I even published it.
> 
> so without further ado: here you go. chapter 8. where the fun gay shit begins.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from "Ballroom Blitz" by Sweet, 1974.

_“Did you see Potter and Patil? That was so romantic! I hope someone asks me out like that,”_

_“I hear Parvati swept Potter off his feet. Merlin, how can I ever compete?”_

Albus Dumbledore had once told a young Harry Potter that what happened to him during his confrontation with Professor Quirrell was a complete secret– and so naturally, the entire school knew. He was therefore unsurprised that news of what had transpired in the fourth-year transfiguration class spread like wildfire. It took very little time, all things considered, for even Hufflepuff first-years to learn that Harry Potter and Parvati Patil were going to the Yule Ball together.

It had a few effects, right off the bat. The first thing was that it certainly raised the standards for asking people out. No longer would the female population of Hogwarts accept half-arsed, lazy prompts to go to the dance– much to the chagrin of the male population of Hogwarts.

Furthermore, it escalated the rumour mills around Harry Potter– but this time in a positive way.

 _“There they are!”_ some whispered in loud, yet hushed tones.

 _“They look so cute together!”_ came the squee from a couple of their yearmates, but in Hufflepuff– some would later say it was definitely Susan Bones who said that, nearly tearing her friend Tracey’s arm off in the process.

 _“I would’ve thought Granger and Potter would get together, to be honest with you,”_ came the mutter from Theodore Nott as he rolled his eyes.

 _“Ew, no! They’re like siblings. That’d be like Granger and Weasley getting together. It would never happen,”_ said Pansy Parkinson, who had her own grin plastered across her face, much to the confusion of her fellow Slytherins. _“Regardless, Potter certainly looks happy. Look at the goofy look on his face!”_

She was right. Harry Potter walked into dinner that evening with a sappy look on his face, like he’d just won a million Galleons, a Quidditch game, and a lifetime supply of sweets all in one fell swoop. Parvati looked pleased with herself as well, grinning like the cat that just got the canary.

“Do you think this is going to be something serious? Like, are they going to date all the time or is this just a thing for the Ball?” Susan asked in a low voice, glancing at Tracey carefully.

“I bet it’s serious,” Tracey said, watching Harry and Parvati laugh over something, with many of their fellow Gryffindors joining in and laughing with them. “They seem to get along really well.”

“-I say good for him,” Cedric Diggory could be heard saying down the table. “The amount of awful things he’s been through in his life? He deserves happiness.”

“Hey, and if he’s taken, less competition for girls' affection,” Sue Li contributed helpfully to some of her fellow upper-class Ravenclaws, earning some nods of understanding.

“I ought to thump you, Harry,” Neville commented wryly back at the Gryffindor table. “Getting first dibs on one of the cutest girls in the school, I’m kind of jealous.”

“Ah, but my dear friend, you are forgetting that she has a twin sister in Ravenclaw,” Harry said with a gesture of his head to where Padma Patil was sitting at the Ravenclaw table whispering excitedly with some of her friends– neither Patil twin was above gossiping and talking about what the other one was doing at any given time.

Harry shrugged. “Parvati tells me she’s not _nearly_ as nice as her, but when you can’t get the best, you can always settle for second best,”

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Hermione said with a snort of her own.

“On the list of sisters, you and Ron are tied for best– with Ginny a close second. No offense, Gin,” Harry offered.

“Nah, you’re good, mate,” she said with a roll of her eyes, before turning to look down the table. “Oi! Dean! Come here for a minute, would you?”

“Dean Thomas?” Ron asked, eyes narrowed. “Tell me you’re not about to-”

“What’s up, Ginny?” Dean asked, coming to squeeze into the bench between Ginny and Neville.

“I was wondering, have you got a date to the Yule Ball? I really want to go but can’t unless I’ve got a date,” she said. “Wanna go together?”

Dean froze and it took a few seconds for him to blink away the lockup. “Um, yeah, sure. That sounds like it’d be fun,” he said.

“Excellent,” Ginny said with a grin. “I’ll write Mum, let her know I need a pair of dress robes.”

Ginny looked at Ron. “You’ll need a new pair too, Ronnie,” she said with a grin.

“Anything’s better than whatever nonsense she sent me to start with,” Ron said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“You might ask Alice about it. Salem might foot the bill on new robes. We must look our best in front of our foreign friends,” Harry said with a shrug. “Then you can dress as fancy as you want, Ron.”

“That would be nice,” Ron said with a hum. “Then Mum and Dad wouldn’t have to spend any money. I feel bad enough as it is,”

“Mum adores the fact you’re a girl now. I don’t think she cares much about piecing together a wardrobe for you,” Ginny said firmly. “Besides, you know how Mum and Dad are. They’re quite good at balancing the budget down to the knut. The last thing they want is one of their daughters running around in Fred’s old cast-offs.”

“Oi, are you saying something’s wrong with my clothes?” Fred challenged.

“Only that your jumper is about two sizes too big for her, you lanky git,” Ginny retorted. “Everything she’s worn that isn’t her Salem uniform has been transfigured by Professor White. That obviously isn’t going to help much during the summertime, is it?”

Fred merely snorted and went back to his dinner. Neville, on the other hand, was looking contemplative.

“Do you think…”

“Neville,” Parvati said softly. “You shouldn’t be afraid to go up and ask her if that’s what you want. She thinks you’re a very sweet boy, you know. By the way– her favorite flowers are violets.”

“Here, mate– I’ve got just the spell you need,” Harry murmured, drawing his wand and flicking it to show Neville how to conjure up violets. After a couple of loose attempts, Neville managed to conjure up a bouquet of violets. He cast a nervous look towards the Ravenclaw table.

“Go on then, mate,” Harry said encouragingly, grinning at his friend. “You can do it.”

Neville bowed his head bashfully, before standing and making his way over to the Ravenclaw table. As he walked over, Hermione regarded her friend with a narrow expression. “You orchestrated all that, didn’t you?”

“Parvati _may_ have mentioned that her sister had a small crush on our favourite herbology prodigy,” Harry said as he sipped his tea. “I may have also mentioned that Neville was incredibly shy and could use a light prodding in that general direction.”

“That was sweet of you,” Ginny said. “He has absolutely no confidence in himself– I don’t know who he would’ve gone with otherwise.”

Over at the Ravenclaw table, everyone’s eyes turned to see the nervous, stuttering, shy Gryffindor approaching Padma Patil. Their exchange was barely audible, but one could see Neville slightly trembling at the stress, but just as a Gryffindor would do, he pushed forward. Dropping down to his knee and offering the flowers to her with a soft smile, her response was two-fold. First, a look of pure shock, before a bright smile crossed her face, and she nodded enthusiastically, giving him a hug.

At the sight, Gryffindor erupted into a bedlam of cheering, earning amused looks from most of the staff (Snape notwithstanding). Neville blushed bright red, and Padma merely shot Parvati and Harry a look.

“That look means she’s none too pleased at our cheering, but she’s over the moon at having a date,” Parvati said with a nod. “Twin intuition.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

…

After dinner, two people found a quiet, abandoned classroom in an off-hand corridor. They had time before curfew, and desperately needed to have a conversation, given the events of the day.

“So, there’s going to be a Yule Ball,” Hermione said carefully.

“Yeah. Feeling nervous?” the other person in the room with her said, shooting her a raised eyebrow.

“I should be asking you that,” Hermione said, turning to face her companion. “I know that if… if we show up together, it will cause you a lot of problems.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” the other person retorted, snorting. “I can’t _pretend_ that you and I aren’t an item anymore, I just can’t,”

“You like me that much?” Hermione said with a smirk.

“Hermione Granger,” the other person said softly, “last summer was one of the best experiences I’ve had in my life. Of course I like you that much. You’re _radiant_ ,”

“Darling,” Hermione whispered. “We agreed that here at Hogwarts, we may have to be a little… discreet.”

“I don’t want to be discreet anymore,” her companion said, shaking their head. “Having to spend every waking moment watching you from afar _sucks_. I’m tired of being forced to play a part I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, taking their hands in hers. “We don’t have to pretend we hate each other anymore. Why don’t we come out _during_ the Yule Ball? It’d get all the attention off Harry, which he’d love, and it’d allow us to say to the world that they can all go roger themselves,”

Hermione stopped and took a deep breath. “Let me do this the proper way,” she said resolutely.

“Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione started, staring into Pansy’s eyes, “would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball? Not only as my date, but as my girlfriend.”

“I would love nothing more,” Pansy said, a soft smile crossing her face. The two leaned in and shared a kiss.

“I missed your lips,” Pansy murmured. “It’s hell listening to Draco go on and on about you, Potter and Weasley, never saying anything…”

“I bet,” Hermione said with a laugh. “I missed your lips too, you know. And your cute nose, and your eyes…”

“Shut up,” Pansy said, blushing.

“Are you sure you don’t mind being seen on the arm of a… well, you know,” Hermione asked.

“I don’t bloody well care,” Pansy defended. “Both my parents supported the Dark Lord and suffered for it, paid for it with their lives. Neither my aunt nor my uncle care who I see, or date, or what I do. I’m perfectly content to throw my lot in with you, because I trust you.”

“Thank you, Pansy,” Hermione said, smiling. “That means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad,” Pansy said. “Look at that beautiful smile,”

“Shush,” Hermione commanded, blushing. “It’s not that great. How could buck-teeth ever look attractive?”

“It gives you a small overbite, and it’s cute!” Pansy defended. “Look, if you’re a beaver, then I’m a pug. We’re in this together, darling.”

Hermione laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with your nose.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with your teeth,” Pansy responded, kissing Hermione again. “If you ever want to get them fixed, I’ll understand; but you should _never_ worry about it with me.”

…

By Monday, the majority of the chaos surrounding the Yule Ball had finally begin to subside, with students pairing off at an ever-increasing rate. Many upper-classmen were taking mercy on third-years and inviting them in the place of their expected partners. Cedric Diggory had created some stir when he asked Luna Lovegood to the Yule Ball, and Cho Chang had done similarly and asked Colin Creevey.

Much to the amusement of everyone, some first, second and third years had even agreed to put together a party of their own, which Professor Lupin had graciously volunteered to chaperone. Their party would be held on one of the upper levels, inside one of the larger chambers there. While not nearly as formal and _fantastic_ as the Yule Ball, it was supposedly going to be quite fun.

That Monday evening, despite entreaties to join them in “girl talk”, Ron had begged off Parvati, Lavender and Hermione and opted to spend the evening with Harry in his dorm.

“I might be a girl, but the last thing I want to do is spend all night gossiping about romance,” Ron said with a look of horror on her face.

Harry laughed and flicked one of the biscuits Dobby had set out for them at her. “What was the phrase Hermione used? ‘Emotional depth of a teaspoon’?”

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron said. “Just because I’m a girl now doesn’t mean I’ve gotta gossip about anything. It’s none of my business what anybody else does with their life. You know Parvati’s going to tell them all about how good of a kisser you are, right?”

“Yeah, I figured as much– that and gossiping about who asked who to the Ball, like Neville and Padma. It doesn’t bother me much, I’d rather they gossip about it than the papers,” Harry said with a snort.

“Mmhm,” Ron said. “Fancy a game of chess, mate?”

“Ah, no matter how much you change, there will be some things that remain the same. You and your love of chess, for instance,” Harry said with a grin. “Don’t you get tired of beating my arse?”

“I’m hoping you’ll get better with time. C’mon then, I’ll let you get first move.”

Harry sighed, and entrenched for a game of chess. As promised, Ron let him be the white pieces, and allowed him the first move. Harry, just as in all his time playing chess with the redhead, paid little attention to the game. Biting at his nails some, Harry moved his pawn forward– the first sally of the battle.

Ron gave it a careful look before moving her piece.

“Do you think about how much things have changed in the last three months?” Ron asked as they played on.

“Ever since Halloween, right?” Harry asked, earning a nod from the redhead.

“Yeah,” Ron said, furrowing her eyebrows. “First you get drawn as the Salem champion and everyone goes mental. Then, I don’t know, it all rolls down hill. I get a massive dose of self-awakening, the Ministry does an about-face about all the things they rogered up, Dumbledore gets sacked, and it turns out that Professor Moody was a Death Eater the whole time? It feels like we condensed our whole year’s worth of nonsense down before Christmas for once.”

“Speak for yourself, I’ve still got three more tasks to beat,” Harry replied, moving his rook into position.

“Mm, yeah, but that’s controlled. They won’t allow any of you four to be _seriously_ hurt, and you’ve dealt with much worse. If we still lived in the olden days, they’d write sagas about you,” Ron replied, countering his move.

“Would they?” Harry asked, trapping Ron’s piece with his bishop.

“Haraldr Basilisk-Slayer, he who defeated the King of Serpents with a fine warrior’s blade,” Ron said, her voice carrying up in a sing-song lilt.

“As it is, I think they should call you that more than Boy-Who-Lived. It’s just insensitive, while calling you the Basilisk-Slayer is giving you proper right kudos for doing something ballsy,” Ron said, maneuvering one of her pawns into an advantageous position.

“I nearly died,” Harry replied, falling for her trap and snapping his fingers in irritation as she took his piece.

“Yeah, but you lived, didn’t you? A lot of those famous warriors of centuries past nearly died or _did_ die, but people remembered ’em and wrote them down into the sagas of history. What am I going to be remembered for?”

“The fair maiden of burning hair whose assistance and companionship to Haraldr Basilisk-Slayer was worth more than all the gold in the world,” Harry said, it being his turn to turn poetic. “She who stood by him in all things, a true shield-sister.”

Ron started laughing. “Come on, I’m much less help than Hermione is on any given day,” she protested, moving one of her knights into position.

“What you lack in being a walking encyclopedia, you make up for in being the most loyal and just person I’ve met. You’re not one to beat around the bush and be… well, _sensitive_. You’re blunt and sometimes that’s a good thing. You still stick your foot in your mouth from time to time, but, you know. You wouldn’t be Ron Weasley without being a bit of a careless berk sometimes,” Harry murmured, as he took the knight out of commission with his second rook.

“Aw, screw you too, Harry,” Ron grumbled.

“Oh, you know I say it out of love, Ron. You and yours are some of the first family I’ve ever had. I mean, your Mum’s a bit smothering, but your brothers are cool, and so is Ginny,” Harry said brightly.

“They’re bloody menaces– that’s what they are, but yeah, I don’t think I’d trade them for anything,” Ron said idly, before she blinked in surprise, and leaned into the board. “What the hell?”

“What?” Harry asked, glancing down at the board.

“You won,” Ron murmured, eyes wide. “You’ve _never_ won a game of chess against me,”

“I just got lucky,” Harry insisted. “We’ve been having a pretty deep conversation, so maybe you were just distracted.”

“No,” Ron said. “I’m happy for you! You’re not just going through things on autopilot like you usually do. Merlin, these last two months have been better for you than the rest of us, haven’t they?”

“I guess,” Harry murmured. “I haven’t quite figured it all out. It’s… sorta still playing itself out. Professor McGonagall and I are more awkward than we’ve ever been, Alice has a life all her own without me… and I dunno, I have Parvati, but who knows? Voldemort could return and kill me tomorrow,”

“Then you should be living life to its fullest,” Ron pointed out. “At least, that’s what my Uncle Bilius used to say.”

“Wasn’t he the one who saw the Grim and died?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he died of fear, or alcoholism. Uncle Bilius liked the drink, more than was reasonable, probably. Hermione was probably right about the reason he croaked,” Ron said, nodding, before freezing and glancing at Harry. “Don’t ever tell her I said that.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Ron,” Harry said with a snort.

“My point is though, mate,” Ron said, leaning forward. “You shouldn’t worry too much about that, and take the good things when they come. You’ll drive yourself barmy, or at the very least sick trying to stress about every possibility. We’ve got people in our corner now, which is more than I can say for our adventures in the last couple years, right?”

“You’re right,” Harry said, sighing. “I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t think that way. You’ve got enough problems, dealing with the Tournament and all. Just try to roll with it.”

“I’ll try,” Harry said softly. “I’ll try.”

…

While Harry and Ron were having their chess game-turned conversation about how things had come and where they were going, the other three members of their Salem group were sitting in the common area of the shared dorms by the fire.

“How good of a kisser is he?” Lavender asked, eyes twinkling. “Is it as good as the books say it is?”

“Those books were written when he was still in nappies,” Hermione said. “They’re far from an accurate portrayal of Harry.”

Parvati nodded and took a sip of her tea. “He’s rather awkward, but very gentle. I think he’s not even sure what he’s doing when he kisses, he just… goes with it. But there are other parts of him that are very… good.”

“Oh?” Lavender asked, leaning forward, grinning.

“Well, his hands are still rather soft, but they’re very strong. I feel safe when I’m with him, and I’m not sure why. He feels… protective, but not in a bad way.”

“He’s a very sweet boy,” Hermione said with a shrug. “Incredibly sensitive, yet… he has a strong leadership quality. I think his new circumstances will be good for him to build some confidence. His absolutely awful relatives haven’t helped much on that front.”

“Pining for him, Hermione?” Lavender teased, and Hermione pulled a face.

“Absolutely not. He’s like my baby sibling,” she said. “I mean, if he hadn’t been raised by those deplorable people, I could see us being compatible in some way, but no. After all we’ve been through thus far, and the way our friendship has evolved, and the sort of… stunted emotional growth he’s got, no. I’d rather be there for him as a sister, rather than complicate our friendship.”

“You’ve given this thought, then?”

“Of course I did!” Hermione said with a scoff. “You think I wouldn’t?”

“Fair enough. I think everyone at Hogwarts who likes boys has given it a thought. I know Ron certainly has a thing for Harry, though she doesn’t mention it,” Lavender said.

“Oh, you noticed that too?” Parvati asked. “Ron looked like steam might come out her ears. So sweet, but I don’t think Harry sees her that way.”

“Definitely not,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Ron and the other Weasleys are like siblings to him as well. It’s why Ginny’s pining and crushing on him never went anywhere. To be honest, I think he couldn’t have found anyone better than you, Parvati.”

“I’m optimistic,” Parvati said with a nod. “So, have either of the two of you found dates yet?”

“I haven’t, but I know who I want to ask. I just have to find the confidence to do it,” Lavender said slyly, smiling all the while.

“I have, actually,” Hermione said, feigning disinterest. Parvati and Lavender exchanged glances.

“Who?” Parvati asked.

“Ah, see, now that would be telling,” Hermione said with a smirk. “We agreed we would leave that to be a surprise for everyone when we arrive at the Yule Ball.”

“Oh, you bint,” Lavender said, covering her face with a pillow. “I can’t believe you’re going to torture us like that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You two would let everyone in Hogwarts know by breakfast tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone? Not even Ron or Harry?”

“No, but I certainly hope they’ll be mature about it,” she said with a sigh.

“Ooh, is it Malfoy?” Lavender asked.

Hermione shot her a dirty look. “Do I look like I’d ever sully myself with that arse? Do you not remember me giving him a bloody nose last year?”

“Wait, you _did_?” Parvati asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, the day that Buckbeak and Sirius escaped,” Hermione said. “He was mocking Hagrid and Buckbeak, and then called me a mudblood again. I punched him right in the nose, which is all the little prat deserves.”

“Remind me not to piss you off,” Lavender murmured. “Most girls I know would’ve just hit him with a stinging hex.”

“Not good enough. Maybe I’ll borrow Ginny’s Bat-Bogey Hex next time he tries anything,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “But honestly, nothing feels as good as beating him up like a common Muggle.”

“Okay, so it isn’t Malfoy,” Lavender said sulkily. “Not even a hint?”

“Nope, you’ll find out on Christmas,” Hermione teased.

“This sucks,” Parvati said, sighing.

“Fine, if we can’t grill you about your date, we get to grill you about your gown. Fair?” Lavender asked, glaring at Hermione.

“Right, well, my date and I are probably going to come as a matching set, or at the very least complimenting,” Hermione said. “They’re… going to send an owl and arrange everything, or at least, that’s what they told me.”

“That’s sweet,” Parvati said softly. “I’ve already got my dress robes prepared, but I’ve got to think about what Harry’s going to wear.”

“Is he required to wear a gown? He is technically a female student right now,” Hermione murmured, tapping her finger to her lips. “You might want to ask Alice about it.”

“I guess I’ll do that tomorrow. I think she’s still in Salem,” Parvati said idly. “Love is love, and all that,”

“Right,” Hermione said with a nod and a soft smile.

…

The very next morning, Parvati decided to get ahead of the game and talk to Alice before heading off to the Great Hall for breakfast. Entering the room, the dark-haired woman was sitting at her desk, writing on a sheet of parchment, a determined look on her face.

“Alice?” Parvati asked carefully.

Alice looked up from her work, and blinked.

“Come in, come in,” Alice gestured. “Is something wrong, Parvati?”

“Nothing, really,” Parvati said, shaking her head. “I actually had a question for you. As you know by now, Harry and I are attending the Yule Ball together. I was wondering if you knew anything about Harry’s robe choices for the ball.”

“I certainly didn’t accompany him to buy them, if he bought them at all,” Alice said, furrowing her eyebrows. “Molly Weasley might’ve bought them for him. He mentioned to me that she purchased his school supplies before the term.”

“I was wondering if Harry’s required to wear a gown rather than standard robes? You know, the whole…‘enrolled as a female’ requirement. I don’t know what Salem’s policies are about that,” Parvati said.

“I’ll have to check and consult with Vesta, but it really does depend,” Alice commented, thinking about it. “It’d be a frightfully devilish prank to tell him he has to wear a dress, but it’d also be kind of mean at the same time.”

“It doesn’t have to be mean. I mean, my mother could come and take him shopping, get him fitted for something that’d look nice, even with a boy’s body! It doesn’t have to be embarrassing, you know,” Parvati defended. “He is Salem’s champion too, so you know, dressing like a boy might be a bit… inappropriate.”

“I’ll ask Vesta,” Alice said with a nod. “I’ll let you know by the end of the day what she says. If you can get Harry onboard with the idea without too much fuss, that’d make life even easier.”

“I can try,” Parvati said with a nod. “Thanks, Alice,”

“You’re welcome, kid,” she replied, as Parvati left Alice’s office.

As the door closed, Parvati closed her eyes and thought about what she was going to say, and how to present her idea to Harry without making it… too easily misunderstood. Weighing it in her head, she hesitantly made her way across the commons to Harry’s room.

She knocked on the door and rocked on her heels.

“Come in,” came Harry’s voice from inside.

Opening the door, Parvati noted that the boy wonder was nowhere to be found.

“Harry?” she asked.

“I’ll be just a minute, just finishing up in here,” he called from the bathroom.

Parvati took a seat on his trunk and waited patiently. The door opened, and out from it stepped Harry, fully dressed for the day, his hair in long braid, just like Parvati had showed him their first day of class as Salem delegates. Parvati flashed him a bright smile.

“You’re wearing your hair like I showed you,” she said, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah, I found that I don’t mind it much,” he replied, grinning. “It makes my hair not a bother to deal with,”

“You could always get a haircut,” Parvati suggested, and Harry shrugged.

“It’s not that important,” he said. “Was there something you needed? You don’t usually come visit me before breakfast,”

“Oh, right, uh, so, I was wondering what you were going to be wearing to the Yule Ball,” Parvati asked.

“Oh!” Harry said, blinking in surprise. “Um, lemme show you?”

Parvati nodded and slid off of Harry’s trunk, allowing the young man to dig around the trunk. He pulled out a folded bundle of robes and tossed them up onto the bed. Parvati went over and laid them out and cringed.

“Oh, they’re _awful!_ ” Parvati said, horrified. “Why in Circe’s name would you buy these?”

“I didn’t,” Harry said. “Mrs. Weasley did as a favour since I couldn’t get away from the Dursleys in a reasonable amount of time to get fitted. I don’t even think they’re the right size,”

“Ugh, this won’t do _at all_ ,” Parvati said, shaking her head. “This is a good point to transition into what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve been quite amenable thus far, rolling along with everything that’s gone on to this point, wearing a skirt and all. But, I was wondering if you’d be willing to go just a little bit further?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, warily.

“Well, I imagine your Muggle relatives never let you connect much with your heritage, did they?”

Harry let out an amused snort. “I was the little brown boy in their perfect white family. Petunia made it very clear what she thought of the fact that her sister married and had a child with an _Indian_ man, even if that Indian man had more British pedigree than she’d ever hope to have, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“I’m sorry they treated you that way, that’s very unfair,” Parvati said softly, gently placing her hand on Harry’s. “You shouldn’t have been looked down on for your skin colour or your background.”

“They’re not good people,” Harry replied. “It’s alright, they’re out of my life now, for good, I hope.”

Parvati nodded, before smiling at Harry. “Right, so I was actually wondering if you’d consider wearing a sari.”

“A sari? Isn’t that a dress?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“It is, correct,” Parvati said with a nod. “I think with a slight tailor fit, you’d look absolutely stunning in one.”

“I don’t know, _a dress?_ ” Harry said, unconvinced.

“After the fact you’ve been parading around in a skirt since the start of November, I don’t think anybody would begrudge you for wearing something pretty,” Parvati said softly. “Think about everyone’s jaws hitting the floor when they see us gliding across the dance floor. Isn’t this what you wanted? To be known for more than just being the Boy-Who-Lived?”

“I guess so,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “What would… this all involve?”

“A trip to the tailors with my mother, most likely– probably Alice as well,” Parvati said with a smile.

“Alright, I guess… I guess we can try it out, but my condition is that Ron and Ginny get to tag along,” Harry provisioned. “They need new items for the ball themselves. Their mother’s fashion sense is… _well, you see,_ ”

“Absolutely, absolutely. No doubt Mrs. Weasley will invite herself along too. I’ll contact my Mum about it and see if she’s interested in joining us, but I have no doubt in my mind that she will,” Parvati said with a grin. “Oh, Harry, you’re going to be the _highlight_ of the Ball.”

“Am I?” Harry said.

“Merlin, yes,” Parvati said. “Do you not realize how _right_ you look in these outfits? Trousers do you absolutely zero favours, Harry. You pull pretty off in a way that most girls would _kill_ for.”

“I don’t know if I should be offended or complimented by that,” Harry joked, and Parvati shrugged.

“Take it how you want,” she said with a grin. “If you need me, I’m going to go write a letter! See you at breakfast!”

She leaned in and kissed him on the lips once before bouncing out of the room, grinning madly the entire time.

…

“Ah, Harry. I guess Parvati talked to you, huh?” Alice asked, grinning at her godson as he stepped through the door to her office.

“Yeah, um, I guess I’m going to the Ball in a sari?” Harry asked, looking uncertain. “I’m still not sure how I’m feeling about it. There’s a bunch of lines I’ve crossed, and I think it’s getting progressively weird.”

“It’s not so bad,” Alice said. “Do you know how much good you’re doing just by being willing to parade around in skirts and dresses? The last thirty years of socially regressive actions towards gender non-conforming and trans wixen has been nearly reversed overnight because Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Loved is willing to parade around in a skirt and not let that impact the way he does things.”

“I’m not really trying to make a _social_ commentary,” Harry said with a huff. “I was forced into this, remember?”

“I remember, I was there,” Alice said. “But you can’t deny that you have positive impacts on things, just by _doing it_.”

“Parvati _really_ wanted me to do this. She nearly had kittens when she saw what Mrs. Weasley bought me,” Harry said. “I guess I can’t be mad that she just wants me to be fashionable. She’s good like that.”

“Right!” Alice said with a grin. “I know Molly Weasley’s sense of fashion, it’s like if someone put a blind kneazle in a fabric factory. The only thing that keeps the Weasley clan from looking like they raided Dumbledore’s closet is the fact that she gets most of their new stuff second-hand and uses charms to extend the lifespan of it.”

“Yeah, it was pretty gaudy looking, and a bit too large for me,” Harry said dryly. “So, Parvati’s going to get her mum to take me to a tailor to get a purpose-fit dress for the Ball. I’d appreciate someone tagging along as moral support. I was also thinking of inviting Ron and Ginny along, since they need new dresses as well. I’d pay for it and tell Mrs. Weasley to stick it.”

“That’s very kind of you, kiddo,” Alice said with a nod. “That’s doable. Minerva should be _very_ open to the idea; she’s been in my ear constantly about needing to take you to get all new wardrobe items, but we both agreed it mostly would hold until summer. A quick trip to get some work done for your Yule Ball outfit should fall within all that– I can come as your official chaperone,”

Harry nodded, and turned to leave.

“Harry?” Alice called out.

Harry turned back to look at his first-godmother. “Yeah?”

“I’d suggest going with the flow, you know. How often are you going to have days where people are going to do nothing but fuss over you and make you feel good and happy?”

“You’re right,” Harry said, nodding a bit. “I’ll keep that mind. See you later, Alice.”

…

“You need new dress robes, right?” Harry asked very directly.

Ron blinked in surprise. “Yeah,” she replied. “The ones Mum got me were bad, but now they’re even worse since I don’t fit in them anymore.”

“Sometime this week I’m going with Parvati and her mother to get fitted for… a new outfit for the Yule Ball,” Harry said. “I wanted to invite you and Ginny to come with us. I want to make sure you two get something that looks good.”

“Harry, you don’t have to-” Ron started, only to be cut off by Harry’s glare.

“I know I don’t _have_ to. I don’t _have_ to do anything, I could tell you to sod off and enjoy wearing your uncle’s hand-me-downs, but that’s not the point. I’m _offering_ to take you and Ginny with me to a rather upscale tailor who will make you the dress you could’ve only ever dreamed of– same for Ginny, she’s going to the Ball, she should have something nice to wear. This way your mum and dad don’t have to come up with the funding for it.”

“Okay,” Ron said softly. “I guess that makes sense. Mum will probably insist she come along, though. She’s been dying to see me in person since, you know,”

“That’s fine by me, if she wants to tag along– but she _can’t_ comment about the fact I’m paying for it. For once, allow _me_ to be the one who looks after you lot, rather than the reverse. What good is all the wealth in the world if you can’t _share_ it with others and spread happiness?”

“I just don’t want you to waste your money on me, mate,” Ron said. “It-”

“It’s not a bloody waste of money! I’m not spending it on useless trinkets I’ll never use. I’m using it to buy my best friend something she’ll cherish forever. Something that’ll show off just how pretty you’ve gotten lately. I’ll let you know when we can expect to go. You’ll let Ginny know?”

“Yeah, I’ll let her know,” Ron said in a soft voice, stepping forward and hugging him. “Thank you, Harry. You don’t know how much this means to me,”

“Think nothing of it,” Harry said, gently patting her back. “You’re my friend. I’d do just about anything to see you happy. It’ll be a Christmas gift, if you get my meaning.”

…

When Ginny had been told of Harry’s offer, she’d hunted down the older boy and gave him a massive bear-hug.

The Hogwarts owlery had become a hub of activity as letters were sent every which way. Parvati’s correspondence with her mother had set up the date of their appointment– set for Friday, December 16. In the intervening days, it was everyone else’s responsibility to set up the _other parts_ of it.

Ron and Ginny had sent their own independent letters to Molly, informing them of the plan, and how Harry was offering to pay for everything. Their letters had strongly pointed out that Harry insisted, over their objections, and that she was invited to accompany them to their appointment with the tailor on Friday.

On the morning of December 16th, awake far earlier than everyone else, Harry and Alice made their way to Gringotts via Headmistress McGonagall’s floo to withdraw enough money to pay for several bespoke-tailored gowns. After quickly checking in with Griphook and getting a quick run-down on the Potter finances, Harry withdrew a fair sum of galleons and made his way back up Diagon Alley and back to Hogwarts, where he went off to prepare for the day.

With the Yule Ball just over a week away, the school had largely ground to a dead halt. Students were paying very little attention in classes, and many of the teachers (including Professor Guillot, the new interim Transfiguration professor who had been loaned to the school by Beauxbâtons) had given up trying to teach proper lessons, and had instead relied on essays. On this particular Friday, Headmistress McGonagall had granted the four students special permission to miss class for the day, as well as the rights to leave the school for an extended period of time with the oversight of Professor White, Mrs. Patil and Mrs. Weasley.

At promptly 8 o’clock, Harry was seated in the common room with Parvati, Ron and Ginny, enjoying a light breakfast and tea with them. Within a minute of that, the floo in the room flared to life, and out stepped Parvati’s mother. She looked very much like the sort of high-class woman Harry was used to seeing in television dramas, almost making Draco’s mother look… tawdry in comparison.

“Mum,” Parvati said warmly.

“Hello, Parvati, dear,” her mother said. “It’s good to see you again. Your father sends his love. Now, why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”

“Right! Mum, this is Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter,” she said, going down the line from the two redheads to the sole male in the room.

Parvati turned her head. “Everyone, this is my mother,”

“You can call me Aaina,” Aaina said with a smile. “It is a pleasure to meet all of you,”

She turned to face Harry and smiled. “Harry Potter. From the letters my daughter sent, I’ve been told you’re my latest project?”

“Project?” Harry asked, glancing at Parvati. “She makes it sound like I’m hopeless.”

“Not hopeless, dear boy, merely in need of some fine touches,” Aaina said softly. “Come, stand for me briefly, let me get a look at you.”

Harry stood up and Aaina moved in a circle around him, looking him over before nodding.

“I think she was underestimating just how… perfect this could turn out to be,” Aaina said with a smirk.

“Sorry, Harry. My mother’s a bit… obsessive about fashion.”

“It’s my life, dear,” Aaina said. “How many fashion designers do you know that are as successful as I am across both worlds?”

“You’re the tailor?” Harry asked in surprise.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, though I’d call myself more of a _designer_ than a tailor,” Aaina said with a bright grin. “Normally I don’t take such an involved interest in clients, I mostly leave that sort of thing to my apprentices and elves, but you… ah, you’re going to be quite a challenge, and it has been so long since I’ve properly done up a design from start to finish on my own. How do we create a perfect blend of grace and elegance with your natural charm?”

“I’m not that charming,” Harry protested, and Aaina merely cooed in response.

“More than you realize, young man. More than you realize,” Aaina said with a smile. “I’ll head back to the shop, Parvati– and get everything ready. Come along once you’re all ready. Ta-ta!”

And with that, Aaina went back through the floo and vanished again.

“Your mother is a little intense,” Ginny commented.

“She’s brilliant,” Ron said with mirth in her voice.

“Is she always like that?” Harry asked Parvati, who shrugged.

“When she deals with high-list celebrity clients like you? Definitely. She’s never been that over the top with me. She usually uses me as a test for her apprentices, to see if they’re worth her time or not. You though, she wants to mould that clay all by herself.”

“What sort of fresh hell am I walking into,” Harry muttered.

“It’s my mother’s fresh hell,” Parvati said with a lop-sided grin. “It isn’t so bad, honestly.”

…

Not too long after that, the fires flared again, and out stepped Molly Weasley. As soon as her feet hit solid ground, she cast her gaze around the room before landing on Ron.

“Ronnie!” she nearly shrieked. It was the happiest _scream_ Harry’d ever heard from the Weasley matriarch in his life.

The mother and daughter met half-way between the Floo and the couches, and Molly looked over her daughter critically.

“Oh, Ronnie, dear, you look absolutely radiant,” Molly praised.

“Mum,” Ron said, blushing. “Thank you,”

Molly pinched her cheek and gave her a knowing smile before her eyes flittered over to Ginny. “Ginny, dear! You look wonderful as well. I’m so proud of you for being there for your big sister. I know it can’t be easy, no longer being the only girl,”

“I don’t actually mind that much, Mum. It’s nice having a big sister now,” Ginny said with a smile.

“Wonderful,” Molly said, glowing with praise. She then looked at Harry.

“Oh goodness, Harry, look at you. I’d read about all those terrible things in the papers, and I just couldn’t believe how those Muggles treated you. Look at you! You’re not just skin and bones anymore,” she babbled, crushing Harry in a hug.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said. “Yeah, I’m doing a lot better. They made me go to St. Mungo’s and everything. I’ve been loaded up on nutrition potions and things like that– oh, got new glasses as well. They’re spellglass,”

“Oh, that’s delightful, dear. I can’t thank you enough for today,” she said, and Harry waved her off.

“It’s not that big of a deal. You’ve shown me a lot of kindness, and ’tis the season, right?” Harry asked, and Mrs. Weasley nodded in understanding.

“We’re just waiting for that Salem Professor of yours, right?” she asked, and everyone nodded.

“Wait no more,” Alice said, coming into the room. “Just had to finish getting ready. Ah, you must be Mrs. Weasley,”

Alice smiled and extended her hand. “Alice White,”

“You can call me Molly,” Mrs. Weasley replied, shaking Alice’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I can’t thank you enough for looking after Ron,”

“It’s no trouble at all– I’m quite pleased to take care of the Gryffindor Golden Trio. They make life interesting,” Alice said with amusement.

“If you don’t mind, the three of us Weasleys will be along in a bit. I’d like to speak to my two daughters alone,” Mrs. Weasley said, and Alice nodded.

“That’s fair,” Alice said. “Parvati, Harry? Come on, let’s head out.”

…

After Harry, Parvati and Alice had left, Molly was left standing alone in the room with her two daughters.

“Ron, dear, have you given any consideration to a new name?” Molly asked softly, earning a blink of surprise from the elder girl.

“I have,” Ron said evenly. “But I have no idea what works best. I’ve always been _Ron_. But I don’t want to be Ronnie or Rhonda or anything. That… that just doesn’t work,”

“It doesn’t have to,” Molly said softly, gently running her fingers through Ron’s hair. “Your father and I were quite weird about thematics. For Bill, Charlie– they were named after King William and King Charles. Percy, he was named after a member of the Arthurian legend– Percival. It’s a Weasley family tradition, you know. We used the same theme for Ginny, Ginevra. An alternative spelling of Guinevere.”

Ron blinked in surprise.

“For Fred and George, well, it was a clever bit of word play on my part. Keeping the tradition of kings from their elder brothers– King Alfred and King George, but, it was also a tribute to my late brothers, Fabian and Gideon. As much as I may get on them about their hijinks, sometimes they act so much like their uncles,” she said wistfully.

“And you named me _Ronald_?” Ron asked, almost incredulous at the _mundaneness_ of her name compared to her siblings.

“I would say that ironically, that name ended up being prophetic,” Molly said softly. “We spent _weeks_ trying to find a good name for you. Books upon books from the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Ultimately, we found a name that crossed both Arthurian lore and had auspicious meaning. Ronald, from the Norse Ragnvaldr– the ruler’s advisor; and yet related in turn to Arthur’s lance, Rhongomyniad.”

She laughed lightly. “Little did we know you’d end up befriending Harry Potter and becoming one of his voices of conscience.”

“So, what should I do about my name?” Ron asked.

“We’ll talk about it,” Molly said softly. “We’ll need something that fits you.”

Molly then flashed a grin at her two girls. “Now then, come on, girls. The day awaits.”

Ron and Ginny shared a look of apprehension as they followed her through the floo.

…

While the Weasleys were having their conversation, Harry emerged from the Floo, staggering a bit but not falling over. He still hated Flooing, no matter how many times he did it. He blinked in surprise at the very ostentatious studio he found himself standing in. The ceiling was covered in mirrors and had small lights hanging from it, illuminating the entire room in a soft neutral light.

“Ah, wonderful, you’re all here,” Aaina said, clapping her hands together. She was standing beside a couple of individuals– if Harry had to wager, he’d say they were probably around the same age as Tonks was, if not a little younger. One was short with long curly blonde hair, the other was taller, willowier, and had dark red hair and sharper features.

“Harry, you and Alice will be coming with me,” Aaina said. “Ron, you’ll be accompanied by Marianne and Parvati.”

The short blonde came over and hooked Ron’s arm in hers. “By the time I’m done, your dress will be the toast of all of the wizarding world!” she said confidently in a light French accent as she disappeared with Ron and Parvati into another room.

“Ginny, you and your mother will be with Petra,” Aaina said.

Petra came over and spoke in low tones to Ginny where Harry couldn’t quite hear. The two remaining Weasley women followed the tall copper-haired woman out of the room, looking a bit shell-shocked at how _fancy_ this place was.

“Alright you two, follow me,” Aaina said, before turning on heel and making her way to a pair of double-doors at the far-end of the room. Harry felt Alice place her hand at the lower part of his back, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

“If you get overwhelmed Harry, just say the word and we’ll take a break, alright? There’s no shame in it,” she said.

“Thanks,” Harry said, before taking a deep breath and following.

Through the doors was a room just as beautiful as the one they’d left, but smaller. A wall of fabrics and other materials was the most prominent feature of the room, and it was joined with an elevated platform flanked by a set of mirrors to serve as the focal point. There was also a folding screen in one corner, providing a place to change clothes with some modicum of privacy.

“Alright,” Aaina said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s begin, shall we? Harry, do you have any particular colours or fabrics you enjoy wearing?”

“I… I don’t know,” Harry murmured. “I’ve mostly only ever worn my cousins’ worn hand-me-downs. I think the fanciest thing I’ve worn to date is the Salem uniform.”

“I understand completely,” Aaina said with a nod. “We’ll worry about that later, then. First, let’s get your base measurements down.”

With a wave of her wand, Aaina summoned a length of measuring tape which she tapped with her wand, before tapping a sheet of paper and a pen as well. The tape measure sprang to life and began to coil around Harry in various places like a serpent. The sheet began to fill itself out with his biceps, his forearms, his shoulder width, depth, neck circumference, height, waist size, hip size, so on and so forth. The whole process took longer than he’d expected. During the process, Aaina talked to him about colours.

“Do you have a particular favourite colour?” she asked carefully as the pen jotted down the intricate measurements of his arms.

“A favourite colour? I don’t know. Um, I’m rather fond of the Gryffindor colour scheme.”

“Red and gold? Interesting, but I don’t think that’ll work quite well with your eyes– at least not completely,” she said with a hum, before walking over to a book on the nearby table and flipping it open. “There are a few options we have in terms of both your eye colour and skin tone. We’ll just do a sample of each. I think the first thing we’re going to want to do is fit you for the base dress, before we add the additional parts. While I know my daughter said you’d look good in a sari, I’m awhirl with ideas that mix your heritage with what everyone else will be wearing.”

“One of the biggest challenges of designing your gown will be the fact you’re well, not a girl,” Aaina said gently. “I can’t create curves where there aren’t any, but I can definitely accentuate what I can.”

So began the lengthy process of Aaina trying to suss out exactly what Harry would look best in. She had dismissed most of the dress designs she would normally use as being completely pointless. Some of what they tried weren’t exactly what Harry would describe as _good looking, or pretty_ for that matter– despite that though, there were a number of designs that really got Harry’s attention.

It was a little alarming to him, he thought– the fact that he was actually taking notice of _girl’s dresses_ and actually visualizing himself wearing them. Though, in the midst of this slight crisis, he realized that… well, it wasn’t all so bad.

Ever since his trip to the hospital, he’d found that he genuinely enjoyed being mothered and fussed over in the way that Alice, Andromeda, to some degree _Minerva_ and now Aaina were doing: making sure he came out of whatever he was doing as satisfied and happy as he could be.

“I don’t like that colour,” he would say to a particular swatch of fabric he was presented. “That doesn’t look right,” he would say to something else, like a sample dress or a photograph.

Harry had no idea how many hours it had taken, but Aaina seemed pleased with the results of her mock-up she’d put together using transfigured fabric. He looked at himself in the mirror and blinked in surprise.

It was definitely _right_ up his alley, surprisingly. An off-the-shoulder, dark grey gown with translucent long sleeves trimmed with lace, and a long flowing skirt that billowed out and gave the illusion that he had hips. At the hem of the dress, he saw a design of golden flowers that made their way up the skirt– when the light hit them, they shimmered and twinkled.

“Huh,” he said. “I’m kinda pretty, aren’t I?”

“I think, while you would have looked resplendent in a simple sari, this is a ball, so you know, a little more pizazz to it,” Aaina said with a gesture of her hand. “Not that there’s anything wrong with a simple sari, I wore one on my wedding day.”

Harry nodded. “I mean, maybe there’ll be another time to wear one, but I really like this design,” he said, watching himself in the mirror. “I didn’t think I’d like this.”

Alice gently draped her arm over his shoulders and grinned. “Your parents would be ecstatic to see you like this, kiddo. James used to say that he thought any kid of his and Lily’s would come out a supermodel.”

Harry looked at her with an incredulous expression and Alice started laughing.

“Your father was many things, including _incredibly_ vain,” Alice said, grinning ear to ear. “I suppose your grandparents can be blamed for that one. He was their little wonder child.”

“You think Mum and Dad would be okay with this?” Harry asked carefully.

“Of course they would,” Alice said softly. “Your parents weren’t exactly married to the idea of the gender binary anyway. You can be whatever you want to be, and I guarantee they’re loving you just the same from wherever they are in the afterlife.”

“Thanks, Alice,” Harry murmured, hugging his godmother.

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Alice said softly, leaning into the hug and resting her chin on Harry’s head.

…

“Knowing my daughter, she’s going to be very pleased to see what you picked out,” Aaina said softly as she finalized the transaction with Harry. Despite his objections, she had insisted on having him pay at-cost for the three gowns they were ordering. “You might just render her speechless, if such a thing is possible.”

“I’m sure she’ll look far better than I do,” Harry said.

“Don’t undersell yourself, Harry,” Alice said. “You’re not exactly the scrawny little thing you were when we met, you know.”

Harry rolled his eyes, paid Aaina, and took a seat in the main room, waiting for Ron and Ginny to finish.

Ginny and her mother were the first ones to finish, and Harry could tell, just by looking at the tears in Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, that Ginny had gotten something beautiful.

“Oh, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, hugging the boy tightly. “This is really just so much. I can’t express how grateful I am you’re doing this for my girls. Ginny looks so beautiful in her gown.”

“It’s no trouble, Mrs. Weasley, really– and I’m glad Ginny found something she liked,” Harry said, smiling.

“She’s grown up so much,” Mrs. Weasley said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Feels like just yesterday she was a little girl at my knee talking about her Harry Potter books,”

“Mum!” Ginny protested, turning red.

“Now look at her, almost grown,” Mrs. Weasley said.

The door opened, revealing a pleased Ron, and a grinning Parvati.

“How’d it go?” Harry asked, and Ron cracked a slightly manic grin at him.

“Mate,” she said, her voice trembling some. “I just… if there’s anything I can do to repay you-”

“Stop it, all of you,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a _gift_. Please, just accept it for what it is, alright?”

Ron looked dubious, before nodding.

Aaina smiled. “Now that you’re all done, we should have your gowns ready in about three days– you can pick them up then,” she said, grinning at Harry. “Thank you for letting me get a chance to design something for you. You were quite a challenge for me.”

“I aim to please,” Harry said dryly.

“It’s all you deserve for the effort you’ve gone through and the things you’ve had to endure,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Having one of the top fashion designers in all of Britain design your outfit for the Yule Ball. You deserve far more than that, young man.”

“I didn’t do any of that stuff for rewards or prizes,” Harry said, tilting his head to the side. “I do it because it’s necessary, or because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Exactly, and we could use more people like you doing that,” Aaina pointed out. “Not everyone out there has such pure intentions, Harry.”

“Yeah, I figure,” Harry said, sighing deeply.

…

The remaining nine days went by quickly. On Tuesday morning, Alice collected the three gown commissions from Aaina, and delivered them to Harry, Ginny and Ron– all of whom were quite excited for the coming ball on that Sunday.

Their rather sizable social group had all agreed on who would pair up to prepare for the Ball. Padma and Lavender had volunteered to help Harry, while Hermione and Parvati ended up with Ron. Ginny had joined her fellow third-year Gryffindor girls in their dorm, accompanied by Luna.

On the actual morning of Christmas though, the five Salem students, along with Fred, George, Ginny, and Alice were gathered around a decently sized tree in the Salem commons, exchanging gifts. The three other Weasleys at Hogwarts had invited themselves over that morning, preferring to spend time with their family instead of in the Gryffindor commons.

“Harry, you first,” Ron said. “Here, this one’s from the four of us– Fred, George, Ginny and I,”

Harry took the package and tore into it. As soon as he opened the box, there was a flash, and a surge of magic that made everyone’s hair stick up.

“Really, you four?” Parvati asked, exasperated. “Couldn’t keep it in for _five minutes?_ ”

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Alice said, thoughtfully.

“What’d they do to me?” Harry asked with a huff, looking at his arms for weirdness.

“Your hair colour, Harry,” Alice said, before conjuring up a mirror and handing it to him. Harry stopped in surprise at what met him in the mirror– everything about him was exactly the same, except now he was sporting long ginger hair– just like his mother, but more specifically, just like the Weasley clan.

“See, now you’re officially one of us,” Fred said in a chipper voice, grinning ear to ear.

“We couldn’t abide by having a Weasley sibling without red hair,” George contributed.

“Hmpf,” Harry said. “As far as pranks go, this one’s at least mild. How long will it last?”

“About six hours,” Ron said. “The terrible twins here wanted to make it last twenty-four, but Ginny and I threatened bodily harm if they ruined your time at the Yule Ball.”

Harry chuckled and tossed the empty box aside. “I can live with that,” he said smugly.

“Here, Harry– here’s a _real_ present,” Hermione said, offering her gift to him.

It turned out to be a copy of _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_. Hermione’s gifts were almost always books, but they were never books that would gather dust on a shelf. Harry grinned at Hermione brightly. “Thank you,” he said. “I like it.”

“You’re quite welcome,” she said primly, smiling back.

“Here,” Ron said, passing a box to him. “This one’s from Mum– it’s your Christmas sweater and fudge.”

“Ah-ha!” Harry exclaimed, grinning and tearing into the packaging. The Weasley Christmas sweater for him this year was an inky black and had a pattern of flying golden snitches on it, a testament to his performance in the First Task. Pulling the sweater on over his t-shirt, he grinned at how well it fit, and how warm it was. “Bloody brilliant.”

And of course, as usual, Mrs. Weasley’s fudge was _amazing_.

The rest of his gifts were small but lovely trinkets. Alice had gotten him a charmed penknife– one that she knew he would use to create mischief, as was only proper of an heir to the Marauders.

Parvati had gotten him a new scarf– decked out in a rainbow of colours. It had a faint enchantment on it that caused the colours to shift and bend through the fabric. It was bright and vibrant and exciting, and Harry found himself strangely enamoured by it.

“It’s not much,” Parvati said. “But I wanted to get you _something_ , you know.”

“I love it,” he said, running his hands through it. “Did your Mum make this?”

“Yeah, I came up with the idea, but she sort of took it to new heights. She really likes you, you know,” Parvati said. “She thinks you’re very humble and kind.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blushing.

Fred and George ended up giving Harry all the records that his mother had left behind at Hogwarts, though they explained they took copies of them and were keeping them in the common room so future generations could have good soundtracks to their raucous Gryffindor parties.

Later that day, after the gift-giving had been done, and everyone was enjoying the day together inside– away from the snow that was burying the majority of the Hogwarts grounds in it’s frosty embrace, Alice stood and cleared her throat to get the Salem Five’s attention.

“Vesta and I have been talking, and she wants the five of you to visit this week, since we have a few days between the Yule Ball and Harry’s next task,” Alice said. “She wants to show you all around Salem Academy, introduce you to some people.”

“She does?” Harry asked. “Why?”

“I think she intends to try to recruit the five of you away from Hogwarts,” Alice said with a laugh. “I told her not to get her hopes up, but after your little death-defying stunt in the First Task, I think everyone’s pretty much screaming her down to have you visit for at least a little bit. I believe her niece, the Captain of the Salem Wildcats, was practically throwing her toys out of the pram over it.”

“I don’t know if I could leave Hogwarts,” Harry murmured. “I have a lot of friends here– and I’m a boy, I can’t attend Salem.”

Alice shrugged. “I’m not saying I was completely in agreement over the idea, just that she really wants you five to come visit. That, and I want you to see where you’ll be staying over the summer, Harry. It’s quite beautiful,” she said.

“I guess we could,” Harry murmured. “We’d leave tomorrow and then come back on the 31st?”

“In a nutshell, yeah. The task on the 31st isn’t until the mid-afternoon, so that gives us time to get a portkey back,” Alice said with a nod. “Gives us plenty of time to explore all the fun bits of Salem.”

“Don’t they have people to spend time with on Boxing Day?” Harry asked, confused.

“Americans don’t celebrate Boxing Day,” Alice said matter-of-factly. “Besides, most of the people you’ll be meeting with are people your age or older, like club representatives and the like– some of the clubs have meetings over the Christmas hols just for the sake of keeping up with the Joneses.”

“Alright,” Harry said with a nod. “I can understand that, I think.”

…

“Oh, my sister is going to flip her lid,” Padma said with a grin on her face as she looked at Harry’s dress. “Mother really went all out. I think even with _veela_ in attendance, you’re going to get a lot of positive attention tonight.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Harry said with a snort, reading handwritten notes Aaina included on how to get the full effect of the outfit.

“Did you get a chance to see Ron’s outfit?” Lavender asked carefully. “She wouldn’t tell me what _she_ was wearing either.”

“I promised her I’d keep it a secret,” Harry said with a smirk. “You’ll get to see it once we’re ready to go out.”

“Hmpf,” Lavender said, pouting.

Harry was surprised that the majority of “getting ready” for the ball had to do more with hair and makeup than it did with the gown proper. Following Aaina’s instructions to the letter, Harry had easily slipped the gown on, and applied a sticking charm to keep it attached to his flat chest. After that, he left it in the hands of Padma and Lavender who were suggesting ways to compliment his appearance. Ultimately, they settled on a simple braid, and some small splashes of colour around his eyes to emphasize them.

Appraising himself in the mirror, he hummed thoughtfully. He really did like the way he looked in it. Swishing his skirt around him, he couldn’t help but slightly grin as he slipped on the low heels that accompanied his outfit.

“You look amazing,” Lavender said in praise. “Now, step out for a bit while we get ready.”

Harry laughed and bowed his head and stepped out of his bedroom to let the two girls change into their dresses. Alice was already sitting in the living room chatting quietly with the familiar face of Vesta Spellman. Their attention was drawn his way after he closed the door behind him and Alice’s face lit up.

“Oh, it looks even better than it did in the shop,” Alice said. “You look amazing!”

“You do look very fetching, Harry,” Vesta said with a smile of her own. “Did they talk you into a gown instead of robes?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, walking over to one of the chairs and gently lowering himself into it. “Is it rather odd that I don’t seem to mind it? Like, wearing the Salem uniform, you know, if you _have to_ or lose your magic, most people will say ‘Alright, you’ve got me cornered, but I don’t like it’. That’s how it was for me at first but now… I don’t really see the big difference between wearing something like this, or a really good tux. It’s all clothing, innit?”

“That’s a wise way to look at it,” Vesta said. “There is absolutely no shame in feeling the way you do.”

“I know, it’s just a little… dissonant, I think is the word? I’m surprised by how little I mind all this,” Harry said.

“As long as it isn’t apathy, kiddo,” Alice said gently. “It’s a positive feeling you’ve got, right?”

“Yeah, I… think I do really look pretty, and _Merlin_ that’s a weird association to make with myself, but I just… I like it!” Harry exclaimed. “I guess it’s something I’ll need to think about more, but I don’t want to think about it today.”

“Sure,” Vesta said. “Today’s supposed to be a fun day– and then you’ll get some time on our beautiful island back in Massachusetts where you can worry even less about all that. I’ll even have them show you how to go sailing.”

“Sailing?” Harry asked.

“Yep, Salem has a sailing club. We’ve got our own fleet of sailboats and the like that our students take out on the regular,” Vesta said with a nod. “Oh, you’ll have plenty of fun.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said wryly.

“Harry?” came Padma’s voice from behind him. “We’re done, you can come back in now, if you want…”

“I should get back,” Harry said softly to the two adults. “I don’t want Parvati to see me until she _sees_ me, if you get my drift.”

“Right on, kiddo,” Alice said, grinning. “She’ll be stunned, you know.”

“I’m sure she will,” Harry said– that idea warming his chest more than anything else could on this cold December night.

In the other room, things were a little more hectic.

“Oh, come on! Will you please tell me who you’re going with, Hermione!” Parvati nearly begged, her curiousity _really_ bothering her.

“You’ll find out in just a few hours,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be shocked to see who it is, so I don’t want to spoil the surprise by just telling you.”

She then turned to look at Ron. “And I trust you’ll be _mature_ about it, whomever it may be?”

“Cross my heart,” Ron said, crossing her heart with her finger. “Even if it was Malfoy.”

“Ugh,” Hermione said, shivering in disgust. “I would sooner snog Gilderoy Lockhart. At least he’s attractive.”

“In a vague dandy sort of way, yes, not that he knows that,” Ron said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s sort of missing most of his marbles these days, anyway. He’d be an awful date choice.”

“Your mother did a fantastic job on your gowns,” Hermione commented. “I’m a bit jealous.”

“Yours fits you quite well,” Parvati said. “One of the most frustrating things about fashion is how little attention is paid to girls like us who aren’t snow-white. No offense, Ron.”

“None taken, I know I’m pasty,” she said with a snort. “The closest I get to a tan is burnt. Parvati’s right though, the pale blue of your dress works _really_ well.”

“Thanks, the pink of yours looks good too,” Hermione said gently. “Really stepping into the whole princess aesthetic, aren’t we?”

“If you think I’m going to pass up the chance to _be a princess for a day_ , then you’re barmy,” Ron said matter-of-factly, before her expression turned to a soft frown. “I’m nervous,” Ron said, grimacing. “Lavender’s expecting grace… and I’m just… gangly weird girl. Ugh,”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. Lavender’s kind of a klutz anyway, so you’re in good company,” Parvati said with a snort. “You two are cute together.”

“Thanks, Parvati,” Ron said dryly. “Let’s see if she still wants to talk to me tomorrow.”

Once they’d all finished preparing, Hermione lead the party out into the common room.

“Ah, are you lot done?” Alice asked, glancing at them. “I’ll let them know in the other room that you lot are ready.”

Alice stood up and made her way to the door, knocking on it. “Harry? Girls? They’re ready, you can come out when you’re done.”

There was an inaudible reply as Alice nodded her head a couple times. She then made her way back to the couch. “They’ll be along momentarily.”

When the door to Harry’s dorm finally opened, Padma was the first to step out, grinning ear to ear. As she glided out of the room, her grin settled down into a smirk at her twin sister.

Lavender was the next to come out of the room. Her dress was long and white, almost _maidenly_ , but she was wearing a suit jacket over it, the frost-white outfit contrasting well with her dark brown skin. When she and Ron locked eyes, both of them froze like deer in headlights. The moment passed for a few seconds before Hermione swatted Ron on the shoulder.

“Go on then, show some Gryffindor courage, you great prat,” she said, earning a snort from Ron.

“Lav,” she said softly. “You look absolutely stunning.”

“I could say the same. I love your dress– you look like a princess,” Lavender said with a grin.

“With you by my side, I certainly feel like one,” Ron said, offering her arm which Lavender graciously accepted.

The two stepped off to the side, completely consumed by each other’s presence, ignoring nearly everything else in the room.

When Harry stepped through the threshold of the door, Parvati let out a sharp gasp. Her eyes travelled over the length of her date’s attire, and she was struck speechless. Harry looked _gorgeous_.

“I’ve never had that reaction before,” Harry said softly, grinning at her and gently pushing her mouth closed with one finger. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m the luckiest girl on Earth, and you’re the most _beautiful_ person in it,” Parvati said, gently kissing Harry on the cheek. “You’re going to break everyone’s minds, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a grin. “But I think I’m okay with that. Are you?”

“Definitely,” Parvati responded with a grin of her own.

“We need to get some pictures!” Alice said loudly. “Come on, you lot. Get together, let’s get some shots. I need to preserve this for posterity. Particularly you, Harry.”

…

Descending the Grand Staircase, Headmistress McGonagall was waiting patiently as students streamed into the Great Hall at a tempered pace. When she caught eye of the Salem delegation making their way down from their dorms, she blinked in surprise and a wry smile crossed her face.

“Goodness, Harry. Look at you,” she said approvingly. “You look absolutely resplendent. James and Lily would be beside themselves with joy if they were here today.”

“Thanks, um, Aunt Minerva,” Harry said, remembering to use the more informal form of address for his godmother. “You don’t think I’m a little ostentatious?”

“Not at all,” Minerva said, shaking her head. “You look lovely. Now, if you and your date will stand over there with the other Champions and their dates. You’ll enter the room separately, once everyone is settled.”

“Of course,” Harry said, before turning to Hermione.

“I won’t get to see who you come into the Ball with on your arm. Will you please tell me?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine, but only because you’re the _one person_ who can’t see it in person.”

She leaned into Harry’s ear and whispered who exactly she was taking. Harry’s eyes widened and he nearly snapped his neck looking at her.

“You’re joking?” he asked, and when she shook her head, he let out a laugh and grinned. “Oh, Hermione. Only you.”

Hermione grinned at her best friend, and Harry led Parvati away to where the champions and their dates were congregating. Cedric had the petite form of Luna Lovegood on her arm, the young third-year girl grinning like a maniac. Her dress was certainly a statement of “screw your standards” as it was a cacophonic mix of colours, and her earrings were fluffy radishes.

“Luna, you look nice,” Harry complimented honestly.

“Thank you,” she said brightly. “I couldn’t let you be the only person who decided that people’s standards were made to be broken. Nice dress, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Harry said with a grin.

“Blimey, yeah,” Cedric said. “You look positively pretty, Harry.”

“I clean up well, don’t I?” Harry said, his grin not slipping.

“Harry Potter? Is that you?” came Fleur Delacour, with a slightly dazed Roger Davies on her arm. “And here I was concerned that I’d have boys and girls pining after me all night! No doubt they’ll be too busy tripping over you to worry about me!”

“Oh, you’re just saying that,” Harry said, blushing.

“Not at all. You’re positively gorgeous,” Fleur said honestly. “Who designed your dress?”

“Aaina Patil,” Harry said. “Parvati’s mum.”

“ _The_ Aaina Patil?!” Fleur nearly screeched. “Oh, you are _very lucky!_ ”

“His luck was bound to turn positive at some point,” Parvati said, glancing at the blushing boy. “He _is_ pretty, isn’t he?”

“Champions, please,” came the voice of Vesta Spellman this time. “Line up here, we’ll be bringing you in momentarily. Please line up in the order of Hogwarts, Beauxbâtons, Durmstrang and Salem.”

After a quick shuffle, everyone was lined up properly. Harry felt a fluttering of butterflies in his chest and stomach, but he was resolute that tonight would go off without a hitch. Parvati gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm to let him know that she was there with him.

Through the doors of the Great Hall, Harry could hear Aunt Minerva’s voice carry through a Sonorus charm.

“Greetings, students, esteemed guests– and we bid you welcome to the Yule Ball. Tonight we commemorate the struggle of our four champions as they battle their way through each of the four tasks,” she began. “Before we commence tonight’s festivities in full, it is Hogwarts’ great privilege to introduce the four champions and their dates to you this evening.”

The doors opened.

“Representing the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mister Cedric Diggory– accompanied by the lovely Miss Luna Lovegood!”

Cedric and Luna proceeded ahead to thundering applause.

“Representing the Beauxbâtons Academy of Magic, Miss Fleur Delacour– accompanied by Mister Roger Davies!”

Fleur and her slightly dazed date proceeded through the doors and into the limelight, earning a score of cheers and whistles from the crowds in attendance.

“Representing the Durmstrang Institute for Magical Strength, Mister Viktor Krum– accompanied this evening by the lovely Miss Beatrice Haywood!”

Viktor and his date proceeded forward into the fray, earning a weaker applause, but still a respectful amount.

“And last, but certainly not least,” came Aunt Minerva again. “Representing the Salem Witches’ Academy, Mister Harry Potter! And the lovely Miss Parvati Patil!”

Harry and Parvati made their way forward, and the roaring applause was mixed with gasps of shock as everyone got a good look at Harry.

Proceeding across the floor to the Head Table, Harry gently pulled out a chair for Parvati before sitting himself down next to her. At this table were the four champions and the Headmasters, as well as the duly appointed representative of the Ministry– in this case, Percy Weasley.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Percy said softly to Harry. “I’m the youngest department head in twenty-five years because Mister Crouch got caught breaking his son out of prison. So, thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Percy,” Harry said with a snort. “How’ve you been?”

“Stressed,” he said. “But when am I ever not stressed?”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry said, earning a wave of dismissal from Percy.

“It’s not that big of a deal– I’m used to it. Don’t let me keep you from your date, Harry,” before he turned to speak to Minerva. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Parvati.

“So, we’re going to be the first dance,” Harry said. “I hope I don’t make too much of an arse of myself.”

“You won’t,” Parvati said soothingly. “Merlin, you’re beautiful.”

“So you keep saying,” Harry said with a smirk.

The dinner menu was quite a selection, though Harry opted for a lighter meal of smoked salmon and pasta, rather than something heavier like prime rib. Dinner itself was an affair filled with conversation– Harry frequently got compliments for his gown and his choice of date. He actually found himself _truly_ enjoying the evening thus far. As dinner wound down and everyone finished their meals, Aunt Minerva clapped her hands twice and the tables cleared away, revealing a large dance-floor.

“And now, the four champions and their dates will open the Ball proper with the Champion’s Dance,” she said. “Champions, if you’d please?”

Harry gently took Parvati’s hand and led her out onto the dance-floor. As the band strung up a light, flowing waltz, Harry relied on the confidence he’d gained to be as graceful as possible– but ultimately allowed Parvati to lead him in the dance. For those moments, Harry _genuinely_ felt like he was at the center of everything. The rest of the room fell away, and he merely revolved around Parvati, her smile, and her eyes.

The waltz went on for a few minutes before the band drew it to a close. Harry and Parvati stopped moving, and noticed that they were, indeed– at the center of it all. Wild applause and cheers from everyone came pouring in as people began to take to the floor themselves and the small orchestra left in favor of the Weird Sisters, who prepared for their set.

“That was amazing, Potter,” came Pansy’s voice as she approached, her arm around Hermione’s waist. “You’re certainly going to make a lot of girls here green with envy.”

“It wasn’t that impressive,” Harry defended, and Hermione snorted.

“There’s the Harry we all know and love. He can’t accept a compliment to save his life.”

“Thank you, Pansy, for saying so,” Harry said firmly, glaring at Hermione.

“That was delightful,” Parvati said with a giggle.

The two danced some more as the Weird Sisters made their way down their approved playlist. Periodically, they’d stop and take breaks and catch up with their friends. Ron had briefly talked about how confused she was about Hermione and _Pansy_ being a thing, but shook her head.

“As long as they’re happy, and she’s not being taken advantage of,” Ron said. “It isn’t my place to throw a fit about it,”

“Even the most stubborn lion can be trained with a little effort,” Lavender joked, earning a snarl and a kiss on the nose from Ron.

Parvati and Harry were privately pleased at how well Neville and Padma were hitting it off– though Harry was shocked to see Ginny and Luna dancing together in a very intimate way once they’d split from their dates. Dean was chumming it up with Seamus (which suddenly made a lot of sense as to why Ginny and _Dean_ would go out, of all people), and Colin just looked to be happy to be there, bouncing happily around with one of the fifth year girls who seemed taken with the energetic third-year.

The dance later took a turn for chaotic after Fred and George Weasley had put into plan “Operation Fun” as they would later call it. Fred and George snuck in a particular set of vinyls into the ball while the Weird Sisters were resting before their next set, and swapped out the pre-selected ones that had been set out for such an occasion for their choices.

The formal, overtly old-fashioned Muggle dancing music was replaced with a sharp snare and drum combination.

_“Alright, fellas! Let’s go!”_

The change in music was jarring to many, but many of the Gryffindors slipped seamlessly into going from formal dancing to moshing, dancing together in a chaotic mass.

_“And the man in the back said everyone attack  
And it turned into a ballroom blitz”_

Parvati and Harry were dancing in tandem sync to the time of the music, grinning like mad fools the whole time. Minerva was glaring daggers at Fred and George, who were high-fiving and looking satisfied at inserting a bit of _modern chaos_ into this hallowed time-honored tradition.

Ultimately, not even Headmistress McGonagall seemed to care enough to go turn the music off. The look she gave the Weasley twins was one of “you’ll pay for this later” and nothing more.

After the Ballroom Blitz had ended, with a flick of his wand, the self-appointed deejay, George, swapped the records to a new song.

 _“… if I was to say to you,_  
Girl we couldn’t get much higher,  
Come on baby, light my fire…”

This was the norm for the remainder of the Ball– a few songs from the much mythologized Lily Evans collection, a set of songs from Weird Sisters, but even one of the wizarding world’s premier rock bands found themselves enthralled by the Muggle music collection being played through the speakers.

Harry spent the majority of the remainder of the night dancing to his mother’s old records, and existing solely in the orbit of Parvati, who took every effort to ensure he felt loved and cared for through the evening. He could honestly say at that point, he’d never been happier in his life.


	9. You Look Lovely As Can Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yule Ball winds down, Harry has some thoughts, and the team visits Salem Academy.
> 
> This chapter does contain mild sexual content in the form of partial or whole nudity and specific intimacy between characters. No actual explicit sexual scenes are shown, hence why this fic remains a Mature rating, rather than Explicit.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Oh, Pretty Woman" by Roy Orbison, 1964.

As the night wound down and the ball came to its end, students filtered out into the halls of Hogwarts to return to their dorms where the party would no doubt continue well into the early pre-dawn hours.

For Harry and Parvati, it was a little bit different. Instead of returning to the Salem dorms immediately, the two sought a private refuge of their own.

With the help of Dobby, Harry and Parvati had found themselves in the seventh floor corridor, standing in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy– the portrait in question depicting him attempting to teach a number of trolls ballet.

“If Sir Harry walks thrice before this stretch of stone wall,” Dobby informed him, “a room of his choosing will appear. Few limitations exist inside the room other than the inherent limitations of magick itself.”

Following the young elfling’s advice, Harry paced back and forth in front of the stone wall across from the tapestry, doing so three times before a large door suddenly appeared. Blinking in surprise, he and Parvati pushed forward into the room. The room itself was decorated much like the common room they’d shared for four years, though it felt… cozier than that other room did.

“Bloody brilliant,” Harry murmured, grinning as he sat on the couch in his beautiful dress. With a quiet pop, Dobby appeared with a tray of sparkling grape juice and chocolate. Setting the tray down on the table in front of them, he popped out again with a short bow.

“How romantic,” Parvati said softly as she settled down into the small couch next to Harry. The couch itself seemed to be almost perfectly sized to fit just the two of them as they found themselves very close, with their stockinged legs and skirts rubbing up against each other.

Harry’s face was already beginning to tint slightly as he picked up the two small goblets of juice and offered one to Parvati.

“I had a fantastic time tonight,” Parvati said. “When did you learn to dance?”

“A mixture of watching and trying to learn the motions, and also Ron helped me for a few nights after you asked me out. She helped me learn to lead and to follow in traditional dances. As for the Muggle music, well, I guess I just sorta went with you and with the beat and hoped I didn’t make too much of an arse of myself.”

“Well, you certainly succeeded,” Parvati said gently, taking a drink from her goblet. “How are you feeling about the task coming up next week?”

“I… I think it’ll be okay,” Harry said. “The First Task was fun. I hope the others are like that and aren’t too much of a bother. If they are, I’ll just have to do my best and try not to get killed, that’s all.”

“That’s good,” she said, gently placing her hand on Harry’s knee and giving him a smile. Leaning forward, she helped herself to one of the chocolates, giving a pleased hum at the taste.

“Are they that good?” Harry asked.

“Mmm, they’re delicious, see for yourself,” she said, before she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, taking him by surprise. His first thought was _flee!_ but after a second, his brain caught up with the rest of him. His heart began to beat like a drum in his chest as she slowly took it even further, going from a simple kiss to a full-on snog.

The action did nothing to stop the growing arousal Harry had been feeling all night and through their bodies being right up against each other on the couch. He could think of very little then, other than… _‘Wow!’_

After a couple minutes of clumsily snogging each other, they withdrew from the kiss. Harry was breathing heavily, body flushed, and Parvati too was slightly winded and looking like she’d just won the jackpot.

“Oh,” was the only thing Harry could say, dumbly pressing his fingers to his lips. They were tingling slightly from the sheer ferocity of their kiss. The romantic haze lingered for a moment longer before the sensible, not-quite-a-kid-anymore side of Harry returned. Blinking, he took Parvati’s hands in his and smiled at her.

“What, um, are you comfortable with?” he asked carefully, his tone very serious. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt or take advantage of Parvati in any way. It seemed only natural to ask her what she was okay with in terms of intimacy between them.

Parvati, for her part, looked surprised. She’d already known that Harry would never force her to do anything she wasn’t ready for, nor would he push her into accepting anything, but it was still a pleasant surprise to see just how seriously he took it. She gently ran her manicured nails down Harry’s cheek and hummed.

“You and I have been… to some degree or another, together for a month,” she began. “I really enjoy kissing you. You’re very gentle and considerate and all sorts of really good things.”

Harry could see determination settling in her eyes, and without much warning, she grabbed the top of her dress and _pushed_ it all down. After seeing a flash of bare skin, Harry’s hands shot to his eyes, and he closed them tightly.

“What are you doing?” Harry nearly shouted, shock in his voice.

“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t trust you,” Parvati said gently, reaching her hands up and prying his hands from his eyes. “It’s alright. You can look, I promise.”

Harry allowed for her to gently pry his hands from his eyes, and she held them in hers as he got to see Parvati’s bare chest. For a teenager – particularly one as repressed as Harry often was – it was like seeing a magnificent Renaissance painting.

Harry’s eyes drank up every detail on his girlfriend’s upper body, reverently committing as much to memory as he could. It felt like a knot was forming in his heart and stomach, and he wasn’t sure _what_ exactly he was feeling right now. It was complicated.

For her part, Parvati was feeling a warmth in her stomach at said reverence. As his wide emerald eyes gently looked over her body, she felt a certain… pride in her appearance. When he finally broke his eyes away and glanced up at her, she gave him a reassuring smile, before gently shimmying her bra and dress back into place.

“Parvati, I-” Harry began, and Parvati gently squeezed his hands.

“What that means, Harry, is that _I_ am okay with anything above the waist. If you want to see them, maybe touch them, I don’t mind,” she said softly. “That’s as far as that goes, though– at least for now.”

“Alright,” Harry said quietly, nodding in understanding. It was certainly more than he’d ever expected.

“What are _you_ okay with, Harry? Where are your limitations and comfort zones?” She asked, giving him a curious look.

Harry blinked and looked at Parvati in confusion.

“It’s a two way street, love,” she said. “I want to know what you’re comfortable with and where I should draw the boundaries– it shouldn’t be you giving and giving and me never giving back, you know what I mean?”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Right, um, I don’t know. I don’t have anything nearly that nice under my dress.”

“That doesn’t matter. Are you okay with me touching your chest and shoulders and the like?” Parvati asked. “It’s okay if you’re not, that won’t affect anything other than I won’t touch you there.”

“No, that’s alright, you can,” Harry said. “I think I’m okay with from the waist up too. I… I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with you touching me down there. Except, I wouldn’t mind you sitting on my lap if you wanted,”

“Ooh,” she said. “I hadn’t thought of that! You’re welcome to sit on mine too. It’s the 90s, no need to be completely unprogressive,”

Harry laughed and grinned at her. “It’s a deal.”

They shook hands, before Parvati yanked Harry’s arm and threw her arms around him and snogged him again. All in all, despite some roadblocks, 1994 was turning out to be one of Harry’s favourite years.

…

“Begging your pardon, Master Harry,” came Dobby’s voice as he popped back into the room. Harry and Parvati both detached from each other and glanced at the young elfling. “I ask your forgiveness for bothering you both, but Professor White has asked for you. You’ll be departing to travel across the pond soon, and she wants to talk about your itinerary before then.”

“Oh! Bloody hell,” Harry said. “What time is it, Dobby?”

“It is currently one quarter before the hour, sir,” he said.

“Do you mind popping us back over to the dorms? I didn’t bring my cloak and I don’t want to get caught by Filch.”

“Naturally, sir,” Dobby said with a lop-sided grin. He walked over and gently placed his hands on Harry and Parvati’s arm and Harry felt like the entire world suddenly _shifted_ and he found himself seated on the couch in the Salem common room. Alice, for her part, visibly jumped at their sudden arrival.

“Bloody hell!” she said, before shaking her head. “Dobby, warn a lady next time, would you?”

“My apologies,” Dobby said, bowing his head. “After coming into Hogwarts’ employ, mine own magic has been most… different from usual. Shall I go fetch the others?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Alice said with a nod.

“’Tis no trouble, ’tis merely my job as Master Harry’s steward,” Dobby said, disappearing from sight again.

“So,” she said, smirking. “What were you two up to this late at night? Nothing I wouldn’t do, I suppose?”

“That depends what you were doing when you were 14, Alice,” Harry responded dryly.

Alice gave her godson a _look_ before glancing at Parvati. “He was a perfect gentleman, wasn’t he?”

“Of course,” Parvati said with a nod, gently kissing him on the edge of his mouth. “As sweet as a sugar quill.”

Harry blushed again. “I should get out of this dress,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be wearing this all the way to America.”

“Oh, no, definitely not,” Alice said. “We’ll be leaving here soon, so don’t bother getting a full shower or anything.”

“Noted,” Harry said wryly. He leaned down and kissed Parvati on the cheek before heading out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“As much as it’s probably making Prongs cackle from beyond the grave,” Alice said, grimacing. “I have to do the concerned mother-hen thing and grill you a bit. What exactly were you two doing at one in the morning?”

Parvati raised her eyebrow defiantly before sniffing. “If you _must_ know, we went up to the seventh floor corridor– there’s a special room across from that tapestry of the bloke teaching trolls to dance. We were in a cozy room by a fire sitting on a couch _snogging_ and talking about what we were comfortable with, and what was off-limits.”

“And?” Alice asked.

“Neither one of us are going to be sticking our grubby hands under each other’s skirts, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Parvati said. “Everything’s strictly above the waist– and yes, that means I did show him my baps. I get you’ve got to be the protective godmother, but don’t give me a bollocking for being a mature adult about the whole thing.”

“Right, sorry,” Alice said. “I’m just… protective of Harry, that’s all. After all the years I missed, I can’t help it.”

“He isn’t a toddler, you know,” Parvati pointed out.

“Yeah, but he’s fourteen. Not quite an adult yet.”

“Doesn’t mean you can treat him like a five year old,” Parvati said with a wag of her finger.

Harry’s door opened again, and an irate Harry stood in the doorway, glaring at his godmother. “Alice, do you think you’re bloody funny?”

“What?” Alice said, innocently. “Did you not like the outfit I picked out for you?”

“I’m not wearing this bloody skirt or these tights to America,” Harry said, waving the bundled up ensemble at his godmother. “Find me a pair of trousers now, or I’m going to stick you in your bloody Animagus form and dye your fur blue.”

“Tetchy much, aren’t we?” Alice asked sarcastically.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Parvati asked carefully, glancing at her boyfriend.

“It’s not that I mind _wearing_ a skirt and tights,” he defended, tossing them to Parvati who looked them over. “They’re pretty, but I don’t fancy the idea of wearing something that short, _or tight_ for that matter, and showing the entire world my dangly bits, you know?”

Parvati giggled. “He’s got a point, Alice.” she said, glancing at the adult.

“I wasn’t going to make you wear that anyway,” Alice said with a sniff. “That’d be entirely inappropriate for winter. Do you want a skirt or a pair of trousers?”

“Trousers this time,” Harry said. “The jumper’s alright though. I like the colour and how soft it is.”

Alice transfigured the skirt and tights into a pair of fabric trousers, and Harry returned to his bedroom to finish getting ready.

“I never figured Harry would care so little about looking feminine,” Parvati said idly. “I’d always just assumed he’d be one of those guys that violently defends his masculinity.”

“Harry comes by it honestly, I think,” Alice said. “Lily loved it when genders collided and mixed up– particularly drag bars, and you should’ve seen the sorts of things James would go out in when he went out into the Muggle world. I think if he’d lived a bit longer, he’d have come to the same conclusions I did– being a bird and being a bloke? Not too different to matter.”

Alice blinked. “Wait, he only brought out the skirt and tights, right?” she asked in confusion.

“Yeah, why?” Parvati replied, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Hmm, I guess if that’s what makes him comfortable,” she muttered under her breath. “Good for him for knowing what he likes.”

…

In another part of the castle– a small nook nestled in one of the unused towers– Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson sat underneath a heavy duvet, their naked bodies snuggled together. The small room was littered with their discarded gowns and underwear, and the room was filled with a slightly acrid smell and smoke filtered around the ceiling, unable to find a way out.

“My parents would kill me if they knew I was doing this,” Hermione said softly, rubbing her legs against Pansy’s. “Sex and drugs? The only thing I’m missing is a bottle of booze and they’d ship me off to a convent.”

“My aunt and uncle don’t really care, but my parents would be furious– doing Muggle drugs and having sex with someone who’d they think is an animal,” Pansy laughed softly, placing the joint between her lips and taking a hit from it. “Isn’t it nice, though? A cool winter’s night, a warm duvet, and a little bit of happy herb.”

“Yeah, yeah, and a nice pair of tits to play with– I’ve heard it before,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, before taking the blunt from Pansy and toking. “Where’d you get this stuff anyway?”

“You’d be surprised the sorts of things you can get in if you ask the right seventh-year,” Pansy said mysteriously, before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I figured after a night of dancing and putting ourselves on display for a furious public, we could use an edge-off.”

“An edge-off,” Hermione scoffed. “I think we went far past edge-off after the third or fourth orgasm.”

“You’re very greedy when you’re being touched,” Pansy said, “and I’m very generous.”

“That’s just because you’re so good at it,” Hermione teased. “And benevolent, of course.”

“Naturally,” Pansy said, preening.

“What do you wanna do after all this is over? You know, like when we’re all done with Hogwarts and we’re moving on with our lives.”

“Get as far away from this bloody island as I possibly can,” Pansy spat. “America might have its problems, but I’m sure it’s a damn sight less bigoted than this sodding place.”

“Mmm,” Hermione said with a nod. “Might not be too bad. There’s a bit of a betting pool amongst us who joined Harry in the Salem dorms. There’s rather even odds on him deciding to transfer at the end of the year.”

“You think he might?” Pansy asked, shocked. “The Golden Boy of Gryffindor?”

“Oh, please,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes and passing the joint. “He hates that sort of thing more than the most ardent Death Eaters do. Think about it, what does it mean for him to be the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Pansy’s eyes widened in realization. “A permanent reminder that he’s an orphan,” she muttered.

“Right– and all our little misadventures over the last three and a half years weren’t exactly out of a righteous crusade for decency. The adults of this place couldn’t get their heads out of their arse for three years straight, plus the Ministry sticking their noses where they’re not welcome by sending Dementors and the like here… it’s a miracle Harry didn’t die or snap under pressure. Little sticky twelve year old boy coming face to face with the King of Serpents? It _is_ a genuine miracle he didn’t die.”

“Merlin,” Pansy said, shaking her head. “Are you gonna follow him if he does?”

“I might,” Hermione said. “I don’t know what your knowledge of Muggle politics is,”

“Very little to none,” Pansy replied.

“Well, I won’t go into much detail– but my parents did not weather the Thatcher government well in terms of their business or in terms of their overall wealth. They’ve been looking for a reason to leave Britain for years, and Hogwarts sort of threw a spanner into all that. Now that I’m in the system, I can get out and transfer to anywhere they want to go– even if it’s Australia.”

“Who’d want to go to bloody Australia?” Pansy asked, blowing smoke from her nose.

“Lots of people, I wager. There’s a pretty vibrant magical culture there,” Hermione replied. “Of course, if Harry went to Salem, I’d try to get my parents to follow. He’d get himself killed without me.”

“That’s probably not true,” Pansy said with a snort.

“May as well be,” she said primly.

“Knowing him, he’d probably agree with you. He’s kind of dense that way.”

“It’s not that he’s dense, he’s just incapable of giving himself even an ounce of credit for anything,” Hermione said. “It’s less selfless and more just… completely clueless? I love him just the same though.”

“You love him, huh?” Pansy teased. “Should I be worried?”

“Number one: Ew,” Hermione said, sticking her tongue out. “Two: Parvati would actually kill me if I tried to butt in on her, and three: Ew.”

“I’m kidding,” Pansy said, before leaning in and kissing Hermione’s lips.

…

Harry ran his hands through his hair as he thought over his current situation. He was caught between feeling irritated about Alice being a bit _too cheeky_ at times, and wondering about just what he’d gotten himself into and why it wasn’t bothering him nearly as much as he thought it would have.

With a deft stroke of his hands, he slipped his dress off and let it pool around his ankles. Bending down and picking it up, he gently placed it back on the hanger it had come with, and banished back to his closet with a flick of his wand– out of sight, out of mind for the moment.

Then again… he glanced at his latest challenge, laying almost _innocently_ on his bed.

Gathering all the determination pooling in his gut, he held up the pair of panties that Alice had included with her little ‘gift’ and regarded them carefully. They were bright ‘Gryffindor red’, trimmed with soft delicate lace and decorated with golden snitches. Tossing the panties back down onto his bed, he picked up the stretchy black top that joined them and gave it a thorough examination as well.

He didn’t need to be an expert in lingerie to know that he was holding a sports bra. The fabric was incredibly soft and stretched slightly as he tugged on it. He hummed to himself as he thought it over.

Setting the bra back on the bed, he hooked his thumbs around the band of his boxers and tugged them off. He carelessly flung them away, before frowning deeply as he thought carefully about his next move, as if playing some psychological game of chess with his own desires.

Who’d notice? Who’d care? Nobody, realistically. It wasn’t like most people were in the business of checking what a fourteen year old had on underneath a pair of trousers and a jumper.

The knickers were _incredibly_ cute looking, and he was curious… and nobody would know… and of all the possible things she could’ve left for him to put on, this was probably the least embarrassing. It was Quidditch-themed! At least it wasn’t… pink, or flowery or anything. _Would anything be wrong if they were?_ he thought, and blushed.

Before he could lose his nerve, he picked up and quickly put on the panties.

Gently patting his sides and his butt, Harry felt a little sharp thrill through every part of him. They… actually fit him quite well, which was a nice surprise. Alice may have been trying to pull a prank, but she wasn’t going to make him suffer.

Glancing at the stretchy sports bra, he picked it up and pulled it on over his head. Getting that on _comfortably_ was nowhere near as easy as putting on the panties, and he fumbled with it for a few minutes before he was content with it.

After once again gathering the courage to dare to peek at himself, he took a deep breath and turned to look at his reflection in the mirror.

He hummed happily at the sight in front of him. He did look pretty androgynous, and that fact was… certainly not as startling as he thought it might be. The person in the mirror could either be a pretty girl, or a very pretty boy– and neither thought really bothered him much.

He grinned to himself and wrapped his arms around his torso, basking in the warmth of feeling good about himself. After standing there for a few minutes, he went on to finish getting ready, putting on a plain-coloured jumper and the pair of denim trousers that Alice had transfigured up for him.

Once he’d finished, he stepped out into the commons where Alice was going over their itinerary to herself. He walked over and glanced at her list, before furrowing his brow.

“Wait,” Harry asked, a look of confusion on his face. “There’s a Portkey Exchange in London? I thought portkeys were used anywhere in the world?”

“They do, but the authorities look pretty poorly on you just popping into their country without just cause,” Alice said. “It matters less in Europe, with the ICW brokering the European Free Travel Agreement back… not long after the fall of Voldemort, I believe. The Muggles are about to implement their own version of it next year, provided things go well.”

“Anyway,” Alice said, shaking her head. “It’s typically good manners to go through the Portkey Exchanges– that way everything’s legal and you’re documented. Americans are rather prickly about the whole thing, I’m afraid.”

“Anyway– so yes, we’ll arrive at the New York Portkey Exchange at 1:30am our time– which is 8:30pm in America. We’ll go through customs, make our way to Grand Central, and get on one of the Magerails to Boston. Vesta’s already set us up with a nice hotel and all.”

“That’s good,” Harry said with a smile. “Looking forward to it. I could use some sleep.”

“Ah-huh,” Alice said conspiratorially, grinning at her godson.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” Harry grumbled.

After managing to piece together some loose travel bags with the help of Dobby, and summoning the remaining members of the group and having _them_ change out of their Yule Ball attire into something more comfortable, they all set off through the Floo to the London Portkey Exchange.

The domed subterranean building was, like the Ministry, nestled in the heart of London. After a quick wand verification and security check, Alice grinned and proffered a small square of fabric– large enough for everyone to grab onto, but not nearly big enough to be encumbersome.

“One portkey direct to the New York Portkey Exchange,” Alice said. “It’s primed to go off at exactly 1:30, so everyone grab on.”

They each took a handful of the fabric, and as the chime of half-past one rang through the building, Harry felt the familiar tug of a portkey around his navel, and the world swept away in a blur of colour. Within a few moments, everything came back into clarity and he stumbled as his feet hit the ground.

“Welcome travellers to New York. Please move to one side and prepare for a wand check. Thank you,” came the voice of a male attendant. Quickly following instructions, they joined a security queue which was thankfully short, save for a couple German witches on holiday, and an older Vietnamese warlock whom was talking enthusiastically about getting to see his great-granddaughter for the first time.

As the queue whittled down, Harry was the last Salem Five member to be seen by the sleepy-eyed guard.

“Wand please,” the guard said, his voice a low rumble.

Harry handed his over and the guard waved his wand over it.

“Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather,” the man grunted. “Wand’s clean. Here you are, miss. Next!”

Harry took his wand back and blinked at the security guard before shaking his head and pushing forward through the turnstile and into the Portkey Exchange’s central lobby.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked, looking concerned at her friend’s perturbed face.

“The security guard just called me a miss,” Harry said. “I’ve never had that happen before– even… you know, looking the way I do.”

“Bloke looks like he hasn’t slept in a couple days,” Ron said idly. “I wouldn’t worry about it much, mate.”

“I won’t,” Harry said, deciding to put it out of his mind. “Now what, Alice?”

“If we had more time, I’d suggest we take the scenic route, but I’d rather get you lot to bed as soon as possible. We’re going to Floo directly to our hotel in Boston.”

“The scenic route?” Harry asked, curiously.

“Yeah, the Magerails,” Alice said. “American witches and wizards like to take trains for some reason. Floo networks here are purely regional.”

“Trains?” Hermione asked, blinking in surprise. “How do they hide them from Muggles?”

“They’re mostly underground or in infrequently-traveled rural areas under concealment charms,” Alice responded with a grin. “It sort of depends on the location. Plus, they’re enchanted to go faster than any Muggle train. A trip from New York to Progress Village only takes a couple hours, and they’re on the opposite ends of the country.”

“If Americans can do that, then why is the Hogwarts Express so bleeding slow?” Ron asked.

“Tradition,” Lavender said. “The slow train-ride from London to Scotland is tradition, it builds anticipation and excitement, particularly for first-years. They get to have a lot of time to think about what’s awaiting them when they get there.”

“Teachers trying to steal magical artefacts,” Ron said with a snort.

“Incredibly deadly snakes and overly helpful house-elves who can enchant bludgers,” Harry contributed.

“Escaped convicts and trees that try to kill you,” Alice chimed in, winking at Harry.

“Grand tournaments that have been banned for a couple hundred years _for good reason_ ,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Okay, maybe the charm wears off pretty fast. The Great Hall is still one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in my life.”

“It’s beautiful, no doubt, but it’s just also incredibly dangerous– at least for us,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s just you three,” Parvati defended. “The rest of us have had a relatively calm time at Hogwarts, barring the chaos that spills out of your adventures into everyone else’s lives. Not that you deserve to have to deal with that nonsense.”

After stepping through a public floo, Harry was the first one out into the lobby of the hotel they’d chosen. It had strong classical architecture, and looked very opulent and high quality.

“Fancy place, isn’t it?” Harry asked, glancing back at Alice.

“The owner is an old friend of Vesta– we got the rooms as a favour for a day or two,” Alice said. “Don’t sweat it too much, kiddo.”

After being called “miss” a few more times by the rather helpful (and apologetic, after being politely corrected) staff of the hotel, Harry found himself crashing head-first into a soft bed. He honestly didn’t care much about anything else other than getting a good night’s sleep. The strange heaviness he was feeling inside could be put aside for another day– for now, sleep called his name.

…

When he awoke again, it took Harry a couple moments to process the fact that this was one of the best nights of sleep he’d had _ever_. His scar hadn’t twinged once, no nightmares, nothing leaving his heart racing a thousand kilometers an hour in an attempt to compensate for the fear and adrenaline coursing through him.

That thought alone had him grinning like a damn fool.

Just about the only thing he was _missing_ was Parvati.

After taking a hot, refreshing shower, he stepped back into his room to see a note from Alice sitting on the nightstand. Opening it up, he gave it a quick read.

> Good morning, Harry!
> 
> Once you get ready, you can come downstairs to breakfast. We’ve got to go over a few things before we set off for Salem. I’d recommend casting the Cleaning Charm and Freshening Charm on the clothes I gave you last night. They should still be in good enough state to wear again today.
> 
> And don’t worry about the Underage Restrictions statute– you won’t get in trouble. We’ll talk about that later this morning once everyone’s gathered.
> 
> Love,  
>  Alice

Harry read it a second time before raising his eyebrow. Picking up his wand from his nightstand, he cast a cleaning and freshening charm over the pile of clothing on the floor and waited a minute for an owl or some kind of messenger from whoever to inform him he’d violated the law. When nothing came, he grinned to himself and grabbed the clothes and put them on before nearly rampaging his way downstairs.

“Ah, I see you got my note,” Alice said, grinning at her godson as he took his seat. “Once everyone’s arrived, I’ll explain some of the… cultural differences you might experience while here– and I don’t just mean on the Muggle side of things.”

“Right,” Harry said with a nod.

As everyone filtered down to breakfast, and they all served themselves from the free continental breakfast (“Ah, the joys of American hotel chains,” mused Alice happily), Alice clapped her hands together.

“Okay, everyone. Just a few things to talk about before we leave for Salem. The first thing is this: I’m sure you all noticed that there are no house elves here. Everything is done by wand or by hand. There is a very good reason for that: House elves that come to America tend to disappear.”

“They _disappear?_ ” Hermione asked, shocked.

“I’ve asked around– most people believe it has to do with the fact that America’s natural magic is much… more feral than what we’ve got in Britain. House elves just don’t work over here– so, no house elves. The people who serve your meals, cook your meals, clean your beds and all, are humans. Just like in the Muggle world.”

“Speaking on that– here in America, they’re not Muggles. That’s a derogatory term, and if you say it you’re likely to get yelled at. They’re No-Maj.”

“No-Maj?” Harry asked.

“No Magic,” Alice replied. “It’s considered a neutral name for people who have no magic. This includes squibs.”

The kids all nodded amongst themselves– that made sense.

“The third thing, and this is actually rather important to know because it will shock you: The Statute of Secrecy here is merely a suggestion, not a law.”

A cacophony of chaos erupted and Alice quickly silenced them with a spell.

“There is a reasonable restriction on performing magic in front of No-Maj, sure,” Alice said gently. “However, they’re quite loath to obliviate people for any reason under the sun, unlike our dear Ministry for Magic back home– so quite often, there is a No-Maj who learns about magic. Most people keep it to themselves. Those that don’t intend to, get obliviated and are then sent back to their families.”

“Right, so… the Statute just… doesn’t exist here?” Parvati asked, confused, once Alice had lifted the silencing spell.

“Correct. I believe I was once told by a friend of mine that about one in every four visitors to Jamaica Bay Marketplace are No-Maj on any given day.”

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

“America’s a big place, right? So there’s about six to eight equivalents to Diagon Alley, and when I say equivalent I mean equivalent in terms of _stature_. Most towns will have bigger shopping districts than Diagon,” Alice said with a snort. “Jamaica Bay is one of them, and it’s located in New York– Queens, to be specific. The others are in places like Atlanta, San Francisco, Chicago, Denver, just to name some of them.”

“Why don’t they ever teach us this stuff?” Hermione asked, outraged.

“Because it would convince people that they should immigrate to America,” Ron said. “That and our History of Magic teacher is a ghost who died two centuries ago when America was still a bunch of ragtag colonial rebels.”

“Indeed,” Alice said with a grin. “Now, the fourth thing and most important for you lot. America’s rules on wands is not nearly as restrictive as Britain. The first thing you’ll notice is that there are non-humans walking about in magical districts with wands. Goblins, dwarves, you name it– if they’re sentient enough to carry a wand, they’re likely carrying one.”

She took a drink from her coffee and continued. “Wand-holding rights are considered a constitutional right here, and they’re very seriously protected. As well, anybody fourteen years of age or older is considered old enough to use a wand without being watched or monitored. Since you’re in American jurisdiction, you have no need to fear being prosecuted or kicked out of school for casting a spell. However, be responsible about it because they’re serious about you treating your wand and others around you with respect.”

After their light continental breakfast, they all left immediately for Salem Academy.

…

“Welcome to Salem Academy,” Alice said with a smirk as the kids took in the sight of the Reception Room. The circular domed room was set up with a great number of fireplaces and a skylight that showed the early morning light through the glass panes.

“This room is designed for students and visitors to enter and exit through if they come via portkey or Floo. This isn’t the only way you can arrive to the school– there’s also a ferry that takes students between the island’s docks and the port in Skyetown– that’s Salem’s equivalent of Hogsmeade.”

As they walked forward, they could hear voices approaching.

“Zeke,” came the sharp, reproving voice of Vesta Spellman. “I’m not an idiot, you know. I know exactly the sort of bullshit you’re trying to pull here. You can either leave or I’ll have the Marshals come and remove you myself.”

“Vesta, I’m _merely_ trying to improve relations between our two schools,” came a smooth, almost _smarmy_ male voice. Harry glanced at Alice whose eyes had narrowed at the voice.

The grand doors opened, admitting a frustrated looking Vesta Spellman and a dark-haired man with a thin mustache and robes that almost… resembled the ones that the professors at Hogwarts wore. The man caught sight of Harry and his eyes lit up– almost greedily.

“Ah, what a surprise this is! You must be Mister Potter! Your reputation precedes you, young man. Allow me to be the _first_ to welcome you to the United States!” he said, approaching and extending a hand to Harry. Harry, being polite, graciously shook the man’s hand, but the man nearly ripped his arm out of the socket with his over-enthusiastic greeting.

“I was very remorseful to hear about how you got saddled as a representative of a school you knew nothing about, though I’m sure you’ll come to see that not all schools are made equally. Should you ever feel homesick during your visit, I’m sure we can arrange a time for you to visit Ilvermorny and see our grounds. I think you and your friends would find yourself very much at home.”

“As nice as that sounds,” Harry said, withdrawing his hand and giving the man an unimpressed look. “I’m afraid we will be _quite_ engaged through the holiday. Perhaps another time would be appropriate for us to conduct a visit. Surely you understand, that the life of a Triwizard Champion is… fraught with perils.”

“Of course, of course,” the man said genially, his shark-like grin never leaving. “You know, you’d be a perfect candidate for Pukwudgie…”

“Ah-huh, thanks, I guess,” Harry said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really _must_ be going now.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, before flashing a dirty look at Vesta, and disappearing into the floo.

“Did you hear that accent?” Parvati said, cackling loudly. “I’ve never heard such an atrocious fake accent in my entire life!”

“He was forcing it a bit, wasn’t he? He sounded more like a film character trying to be British than anything.”

“That was Ezekiel Clarke, Headmaster of Ilvermorny– he must’ve found out that you were visiting this week and wanted to get his two cents in, and try to convince you to transfer _there_ next year, if you transfer at all. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” Vesta said, looking embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” Harry said with a snort. “He was a bit of a ponce. He reminded me a lot of Lockhart, you know?”

“Oh, that’s where I was getting the familiarity from–” Ron said with a grin. “I knew he was being a right ponce but I was thinking of Malfoy’s dad. You’re right, definitely Lockhart.”

“Despite that… interesting introduction, welcome,” Vesta said. “We’re on Christmas break at the moment, but we’ve definitely got a large number of students in attendance right now. Many of them are quite eager to meet our Champion.”

Harry blushed and Vesta gave him a warm smile. “The day is yours, of course– but tonight we’ve got a small banquet of our own– and I’m sure that sometime this week you’ll get ambushed by my wayward niece. She’s the Captain of the Salem Wildcats, and after your performance in the First Task, she’s… very eager to see you play in scrimmage.”

“Look at you, Harry,” Ron said with a grin. “Popular bloke, aren’t you?”

“If, uh, I do this for your niece, I’d want Ron to join me. She’s a natural talent at Quidditch. Plays a mean Keeper.”

“I’m sure Sabrina will have no problems with that,” Vesta said with a shrug. “Our Intramural Quidditch team has been at the bottom of the regional rankings for years, though that has more to do with the fact Quidditch isn’t even one of the top sports in the region.”

“It isn’t?” Harry asked, surprised.

“No, in fact, the most popular sports here at Salem are American gridiron football, soccer, wandtag and lacrosse.”

“Wandtag? What’s that?” Harry asked, curious.

Vesta blinked in surprise, before a bright grin crossed her face.

“Well, Harry, I think we’ve found your first thing to discover while you’re here. Let’s go find Miss Jackson; she’ll explain the game of wandtag to you.”

…

Ophelia Jackson was a tall dark-skinned girl, wearing camouflaged armor just on the outskirts of a large wooded forest in the northern parts of the island. She was straightening up a number of nets and gear and placing it into a sizable woodshed. She glanced up from her work and saw the approaching party, and grinned.

“Madame Spellman,” she said in a honeyed drawl, “I reckon if you’re bringin’ our Champion and friends ’round here, you want me to tell ’em all about Wandtag?”

“I think all of them would get a great deal of pleasure out of the sport,” Vesta said. “If you wouldn’t mind, dear?”

Ophelia gave a loud laugh. “’course not. It’s too dang fun to not. Alright y’all, I’ve got a question. How many of y’all are familiar with the No-Maj sport of laser tag?”

When nobody raised a hand, she nodded and folded her arms. “A’ight, this won’t be the easiest thing ever, I guess. So, laser tag is a No-Maj game you’ll find in arcades and game rooms and the like. Teams of people try to find each other in a dark arena and shoot each other with a toy laser gun to eliminate them. All this goes on, of course, while you’re tryin’ to capture the other team’s flag at their base. The first team to capture the enemy flag and take it back to base wins– if your team gets eliminated, you lose, and if time expires, it’s a draw.”

“So what makes wandtag different from laser tag?” Hermione asked.

“Well, the presence of magic, naturally. You’re not allowed to use spells like stunners and that sorta thing, of course, but you can use spells that cause inconveniences or launch small, non-lethal projectiles at your enemy. Like, if you’re playing a non-elimination game, you can sabotage your enemies by setting traps and immobilizing them but not harming them.”

She gestured at Harry. “Say Harry here is playing against the four of y’all. He wants to incapacitate you so he can steal your flag. One way he could do that is by settin’ up a trap. Waits in some trees for you to pass by, and casts a full freezing spell around your legs. Most people are gonna panic and aren’t gonna cast the spells to get rid of the ice, so that gives Harry here a good few seconds bonus. He could even disarm ya, if you’re not careful.”

“So it’s a mix of strategy and hunting skills?” Ron asked curiously, and Ophelia nodded enthusiastically.

“You’ve got it, man! Man, y’all are pickin’ it up quicker than most do. I’ve had people who come from sheltered backgrounds just kinda stare at me like I’d grown a second head or somethin’.”

She then flashed them a grin. “How’d y’all like to play a round? See if it’s to your liking?”

Everyone found that Harry, when told to have _fun_ and given assurances that nobody would come to harm playing such an innocuous game, could turn into quite a clever hunter. They had been playing “free-for-all wandtag” which involved getting as many hits on each other as you could within a given time limit, and Harry was in his natural element.

The small, adept young wizard was frequently popping out of the trees and brush, landing a couple glancing blows on his friends, before vanishing back into the brush as spells whizzed by his ears. The only person to get _close_ to tagging him was Hermione, who cast an area of effect spell that ended up causing herself problems as it gave Harry long enough to send her tumbling onto her arse, leaving her open to a stinging hex.

After an hour, the game was called with Harry the winner and everyone made their way out of the forest. Harry was grinning like a cat that’d gotten the canary while everyone else looked a bit put-off.

“Merlin, you don’t go with the kid gloves, do you,” Ron groaned as she doubled over. “I’m one big bloody bruise.”

“We’ll go up to the nurses’ office and get all of you set up with some salve. You’ll be alright,” Vesta said good-naturedly.


	10. Sunshine On the Water Looks So Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across the ocean we go!

The trip to the nurse’s station was blissfully brief, and involved the matronly woman giving each of the members of their party bruise salve and some pain nullifiers to tide them over until their muscles got back to normal. After that side-trip, Harry and friends found themselves among some of the teachers at Salem Academy, no doubt intending on recruiting them to their school.

“Everyone, these are some of our academic department heads,” Vesta said proudly. “First, we have Professor Gould, she’s the Head of our Ancient Runes Curriculum Group.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” the short, silver-haired woman said with a bright grin.

“Next we have Professor Amin, she’s Head of Anthropology,” Vesta said. “At Salem, we teach a number of Anthropology core and elective subjects.”

“That is correct,” the woman– Professor Amin– said with a nod. “I teach World History, American History and Magical Creatures, and we offer crypto- and Nomajzoology as electives, as well as Global Approaches to Magic and Religious Studies.”

She gestured with a wide wave of her hand. “More often than not, people tend to overlook the anthropological approaches to understanding our Nomaj cousins and other practitioners of magic. That, and the less we look into the past, the more likely we are to repeat it. I’m sure you above all, can understand that sentiment, Mister Potter.”

Harry found himself nodding. “Yes, I see what you mean,” he said lightly. Were it not for people being inspired by Grindelwald, not knowing right from wrong– wallowing in their ignorance and joining arms with a cruel sadistic man like Voldemort, Harry’s parents might still live today. The thought hurt deep in his very core.

“This is Professor Summers,” Vesta said, gently resting her hand on the arm of a kindly looking brunette. “She’s in charge of our mathematics department.”

“You teach math here?” Hermione asked. “Not just Arithmancy?”

“Unlike Ilvermorny and… well, Hogwarts, I suppose,” Professor Summers said dryly. “Salem teaches the full complement of both Nomaj and Magical educational standards. We fully enable our students to be prepared to take the SAT or ACT by the end of their twelfth year.”

“I was going to ask about that,” Harry said. “Is that why my jacket has nine pips on it?”

“That’s correct,” Vesta said. “By our standards, all of you are unfortunately only ninth year students. That’s no fault of your own, merely the lackadaisical attitude of the British Ministry towards education standards. Salem offers learning experiences for students aged four and up– even adults can attend advanced classes that we offer as part of our course catalog.”

“Advanced classes?” Hermione asked, her eyes sparkling.

“Mastery classes, effectively,” Vesta said. “We try to teach our students a very broad spectrum of things, and reduce the need for them to take more classes after finishing their basic degree.”

Vesta cleared her throat. “The other department heads couldn’t make it today, but I did prepare a list of our currently available courses for non-mastery students, if you’d like to see what our offerings are.”

Harry found a sheet of laminated paper in his hands, and marveled at the class list. The list was split up into multiple categories: Ancient Runes, Anthropology, Comprehension, ‘General’, Health and Wellness, Mathematics, Modern Language, Performing Arts, Potions, Skill Development, Spellcasting, Theoretical and Transfiguration. With sixty-five classes, it dwarved Hogwarts by a fair margin.

“Some of these classes… you offer courses on Scrying and Evocation?” Parvati asked, surprised.

“We do– our philosophy is that Divination is not an exact science, but can be useful in predilection of chance, and sometimes determining impending events via imprecise guesshoods.”

“Professor Trelawney covered that," Harry said thoughtfully. "I saw a big white dog and a thunderbird heading towards a dragon that was napping. Trelawney was convinced it was a sign of my impending doom but I think… the dragon was Hogwarts.”

“A thunderbird you say?” Vesta asked, eyebrow raised. “Did it look anything like this?”

In an instant, Vesta was replaced by a preening blue thunderbird, and Harry blinked in shock.

“Yes! That’s exactly what it was! But who was the white dog?”

“Alice is a Great Pyrenees when she turns into her animagus form– a great change from the mutt she used to be,” Vesta said with a smirk and a playful wink at Alice. “She actually teaches Scrying you know, and we’re working on getting her the licenses to start teaching Potions because our current Potions Head is getting ready to retire this spring.”

“Calculus,” Hermione murmured. “Mug- erm, Nomaj Math _that_ advanced?”

“For our non-mastery students, yes. Calculus has a great benefit in helping augment your Arithmancy skills. Our mastery students can go even further and take Differential Equations and Technomagery.”

“Holy cricket,” Hermione murmured.

“Why does Hogwarts charge such outrageous tuition if it’s… nowhere near the quality of Salem?” Parvati asked, confused.

“Well, Salem isn’t exactly a public school,” Vesta explained. “We don’t allow young men to join our school, and we do limit our yearly class sizes barring special exceptions. Most magical schools in America aren’t going to be nearly to our standard. As well, our course load and rigorous standards mean that it is much more difficult to finish Salem with a degree than any equivalent school. Where Ilvermorny and Hogwarts are steeped in tradition and ‘doing things the way our forefathers did’, we try to be on the progressive edge of things, we have that luxury owing to our smaller class sizes.”

“So it’s just more rigorous and across more years, than merely being condensed into seven?” Harry asked.

“Correct,” Vesta said with a nod.

“You keep saying Salem doesn’t take boys,” Harry said. “Then why all the effort to try to recruit me? I _am_ a boy, after all.”

“Naturally,” Vesta said, nodding her head. “Though if you’re on the Tiresian Tonic, you would hardly qualify as a young man, wouldn’t you?”

“So I’ve been told,” Harry said, folding his arms, a look of frustration on his face. “I… you want me to consider transferring schools, and not just to any school, but a school very specifically for girls. I’m not a girl, despite how I might dress on any given day. You’re asking a lot from me here, to… give up basically all the parts of _me_ to become something that isn’t me. As well, I don’t know if I can speak for anyone else here, but Hogwarts has been my home for four years, and I have other friends there that I would be very… sad to lose.”

He looked at his friends and gave them a nod, before turning and heading for the door. “If you lot want to keep talking to them, all power to you. I’m going to go for a walk.”

…

After spending a couple hours together talking about their first day exploring Salem, the general consensus had been that of interest. There were a number of roadblocks standing in the way of wanting to make the jump to join a school that seemed to be everything they’d ever wanted– almost all of them relating to friends and family they would leave behind.

Was transferring to this American school realistic?

Harry was left feeling a little ‘cast away’. As he walked alone through the halls of Salem, taking it all in, he certainly could see himself attending Salem – if he could somehow get himself past the rather obvious logistical issues – but he found himself as of yet unwilling to sacrifice his _masculinity_ for this. Even if it seemed like it would be good.

Or was it the fact that he could… could see himself _doing that_ that was leaving him feeling a bit lost. He decided that he’d push it aside for now, until summer. He had time to decipher this strange pressure bubbling inside of him whenever he thought about it. He was struggling to keep up with the rapidly changing… _everything_ about his and his friends’ lives.

These concerns and feelings that thundered around his chest like a terrible storm were shunted off as he and his friends went down to the grand auditorium for the Night Banquet. The dress code was far less formal than the Yule Ball, and so they’d gone in _nice_ but not fancy clothes. Harry was wearing a simple dark long-sleeved shirt and trousers that Parvati had emphatically proclaimed to be ‘handsome’.

“We welcome tonight our esteemed guest and Champion, Harry Potter, and friends!” Vesta proclaimed loudly as they entered the banquet hall.

The Night Banquet proper was a full evening of delicious cuisine, meeting new and exciting people at Salem, and being acclaimed for the prestige and victories he would bring Salem, even if he _didn’t_ win the Tournament outright. The fact that these people he didn’t know and had no relationship with were willing to support him despite the involuntary nature of his entrance into the tournament warmed his heart and made him feel… happy!

“Excuse me,” came a small voice at Harry’s side, causing the teenager to look in confusion at a freckle-faced eight year old.

“My mummy wanted me to give you this,” the girl said, handing Harry a card. “She wasn’t able to come tonight, but she wanted me to tell you that she gives thanks every year to you and your family for their sacrifice.”

Harry blinked and looked at the card in his hands.

“Um, thank you,” Harry said, kneeling down to the girl’s height. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Harriet,” the girl chirped.

“Harriet, what a pretty name,” Harry said, flashing a small grin at the girl. “Tell your mummy that she is _very_ welcome. Did your mummy come from Britain?”

“Mummy and Daddy both,” Harriet said with an enthusiastic nod. “Are any of the stories true?”

“Some of them might be,” Harry said with a knowing smile– trying to give off the best “Dumbledore” vibe he could. The little girl’s eyes _shined_ as she looked up at him and it didn’t take a genius to know that she practically worshipped the ground he walked on.

He felt bad, but he also understood completely. He often hated the fame and limelight that… his parents’ deaths had created, but to some people, that was a tangible martyrdom that cemented him and his family in the annals of history forever.

“There are some stories nobody’s ever told, you know,” Harry said with a smile. “Like the time I fought a big snake! As big as this building!”

Harriet gasped. “As big as this building?” She asked, in awe.

“Oh, yes,” Harry said, grinning. “A big, mean thing it was. Dangerous too! And when things seemed the darkest, and I thought I might _lose_ , a phoenix came to aid me and with a great big sword– an ancient sword– I cut the beast down and conquered it, and saved a girl not much older than you from a bad man.”

“Wow!” she said, grinning. “I wanna grow up to be like you, Harry!”

“That’s sweet, little one,” he said softly. “Do you wanna know how you can do that?”

The girl looked curious and Harry nodded and gave her a soft, reassuring smile.

“By being as _kind_ as you can to people. By always standing up for what is right, and always helping others. Do good in your classes, and always remember to enjoy a little mischief. Do you think you can do that, little one?”

“Mmhm!” the girl said enthusiastically.

“Wonderful,” Harry said.

“Would you sign my book?” the girl suddenly asked, sticking her hands out and revealing _Harry Potter and the Alchemist’s Apprentice_ and a dark felt-tip pen.

“Of course,” Harry said with a nod, before flipping the book open and uncapping the marker.

> To Harriet – Always remember to be kind, caring, and just.
> 
> Harry Potter

He gently blew on his autograph and handed the book back to her. The girl gave him a toothy smile and a hug, before running off.

“Your selflessness is astounding,” came the voice of Vesta Spellman. Harry turned to see the Salem headmistress looking at him with a pensive expression.

“Harry,” Vesta said softly– loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough for anyone else to listen in on their conversation, as she lead him to a corner of the room. “I just wanted to tell you that the things you have accomplished and done in your life– the struggle and strife you’ve put yourself through to succeed and thrive under pressure– are beyond description. Alice has told me the story of the night you saved her life, and I cannot thank you enough for your compassion, and your kindness.”

She took a deep breath. “And that little girl, I have never seen someone act so _gentle_. All the fame in the world, and you haven’t let it go to your brain _once_. That is… astounding, and so very rare.”

She gently took Harry’s hands in her own. “I want you to know that I’m sorry for the assumptions I made without even thinking about you and your identity. Even if you decide not to transfer to Salem,” she began, “and decide that Hogwarts remains your home, you will always have a place with Alice and I. You’re an amazing young man, and I am privileged to know you for the real you, not the imaginary character that’s set up on a pedestal. Tonight, these celebrations, are all for you and the great things you’ve accomplished. I can only hope you accept our well-wishes as they’re intended.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Thank you, I… I appreciate it. Those are just the right things to do,” he said softly. “I’d be no better than the Dursleys or Voldemort if I just let people suffer– and for that little girl, it obviously means a great deal to her and her family. I… I don’t always _like_ the fame, but if it makes people happy, then who am I to tell them otherwise?”

“Your compassion speaks volumes,” Vesta said brightly, giving Harry a tremendous smile. “What do you want to do when you’re done with school? What do you see Harry Potter doing in five years?”

“Oh,” Harry said, pensively. “I don’t know, to be honest. I guess part of me wants to be an Auror, but I don’t know. I really just want to spend time with my friends and all that. But I don’t think I’d be happy just sitting around a house doing nothing either. I dunno,”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Vesta said reassuringly, placing her hands on Harry’s shoulders. “There’s a whole wide world of opportunities out there. Though, there is something to be said about finding happiness, regardless of what that entails.”

“I’ll try my best,” Harry said earnestly. “I’d like to get through the tournament first before I start thinking of the future. I have to survive that first.”

“You’ll do wonderfully,” Vesta said. “I mean it– no doubt in my mind.”

…

The following morning, Harry found himself standing on a Quidditch pitch before a group of girls– including a rather fierce looking blonde.

“Harry Potter, we meet at last,” the girl said with a grin. “I have never in my life seen anybody perform a Wronski feint like that in my life. How did you _do that?!_ ”

“Harry is good at defying death,” Hermione said darkly, and Harry snorted.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?” Harry said with a sheepish grin. “It was one of those spur the moment decisions, the kind of thing you do when your adrenaline is flying a thousand miles an hour and you’ve got very little choice other than do or die. I… knew that Krum was a gifted flier, but he has issues under pressure. The World Cup indicated as much. I thought if I could exploit his weaknesses, I could win. I just wasn’t fast enough to get the snitch.”

“You did a great job for what it was,” one of the girls said beside the blonde.

“Damn right,” the blonde said, before grinning at Harry. “Besides, you wore our uniform. I was reluctant at first to let someone I’d never seen in action wear the red and black, but _damn_ am I glad I decided it was okay.”

She stuck her hand out. “Sabrina Spellman, Captain and Keeper,” she greeted. “And these are my girls.”

She went down the line of introducing each position– each girl being very approving of Harry’s performance in the First Task. The last person in line was their Seeker. She was taller than Harry but just as stickish as he was.

“Melanie Bowden,” she introduced herself. “I’m the team’s Seeker, but this is my last year. I’m graduating in June.”

“I know Aunt Vesta is showing you around the place, and she told me not to be too pushy, but with your skills we could _dominate_. Can you play any other positions?”

“I’ve never tried, though Oliver once said I’d make a fair Beater,” Harry said, uncertainly.

“Damn,” Sabrina said with a sigh. “Look, I won’t _try_ to convince you to transfer, but Salem? It’s pretty cool. Since the school doesn’t have _official_ sports teams, not like you see at Hogwarts, I’m sure, we do everything sort of on our own with a staff chaperone. We’re part of the Youth Quidditch League. We play in the Northeastern Conference.”

She handed Harry something from her pockets, and Harry noticed it was a league standings. Harry scowled. What exactly was this girl playing at?

“Sixteen teams spread out across the country,” Sabrina explained. “We’ve got two games left in the season– the next one comes up on New Year’s Eve. We’re in good position at 5-3, but we _need_ to win these games to stay in contention. If you were our Seeker, or even one of our Beaters, maybe, we could _easily_ go 8-2 or 9-1.”

“Look,” Harry snapped waspishly. “I’m _not a girl!_ I can’t attend Salem even if I wanted to!”

“He has a point, Sabrina,” one of the girls pointed out.

“Magic can do all sorts of things to fix that, that’s not a concern,” Sabrina said, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. “It _is_ a concern. I may be frolicking around Hogwarts in a skirt and the like, but I’m still a bloke underneath all of it at the end of the day. None of this was my decision, my name was put into that bleeding Goblet without my permission, and I’m _stuck_ representing your school until the end of the Tournament.”

“That’s why you’re here though, isn’t it? To see if you wanna transfer here or stay there?” Sabrina asked, eyebrow raised. “Why else would you come in the middle of winter?”

“It’s called being polite, which you don’t seem to understand. The worst part of this is that you don’t even seem to care. Your sole focus in on your bloody Quidditch conference standings. Your interest in me is _purely_ selfish and I don’t think I would care one bit to play for your _fucking_ team! Piss off!”

Leaving everyone behind in shocked silence, Harry stomped his way off the Quidditch pitch and back towards Salem proper.

For his part, Harry wasn’t sure the number of emotions he was feeling raging in his stomach, but the most obvious were _anger_ and _indignation_. As he approached the main building, the rage that had been flowing through him began to recede and he ended up sagging against the brick façade and sinking to his knees.

“Good job, Potter– making an arse of yourself as usual,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes in irritation. Why did people have to try to impose terms on his life, make him feel he was obligated to do things a certain way or no way at all? Didn’t he have the right to choose his own destinies and decisions?

“Harry,” Parvati’s voice came in a breathless whisper, as if she’d just run the entire distance from the Quidditch pitch back. “Harry. Are you alright?”

Harry glanced at his girlfriend and shook his head. “No, I’m not alright.”

“C’mon,” she said, gently kneeling down and trying to get him to stand. “Let’s go somewhere private and talk this out. You need to get it off your chest before it gets any worse.”

“Alright, fine,” Harry murmured, before following her into the building. The couple walked down the corridors before finding an empty classroom. Ducking into it, Parvati hurriedly embraced Harry, holding him tight, in an attempt to assuage his unsettled emotions.

“That blow-up was definitely a long-time coming. Let’s talk it through so you’re not hurting,” she said. “My dad always says that talking through your feelings is a good form of therapy.”

“I… just feel like I’m being pushed towards being like Ron or Alice,” Harry said. “Like I’m not being given a choice on what I want.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that way. I think maybe the dress was a little tasteless on my part,” Parvati said softly.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You still made clear that me wearing that dress was my choice. I could say no, and I’d get a pair of men’s robes and everything would go on exactly the same. Wearing a gown or not didn’t… _impact things_ at the Yule Ball. I still had you, and nothing would have changed. Here it makes a big difference! They’re asking me to transfer to Salem and… basically change myself to fit their profile of a model student.”

“It’s not fair to you,” Parvati agreed, nodding. “And that Sabrina girl was _way_ out of line with assuming you’d just roll over and be a happy carry-on for her to win championships. You’ll be happy to know that as soon as you ran off, Hermione gave her a thorough dressing-down before I could even get my mouth open. That Seeker girl, Melanie, she joined in and told Sabrina to find herself a new Seeker because it was disgusting how… _awful_ she was.”

“Serves the bint right,” Harry muttered. “Vesta’s niece or not.”

Parvati laughed, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a swell of joy at her laugh.

“Harry, you should do what makes you happiest. Whatever that is, if you want to come here or not. Don’t let _anybody_ , not me, nor Alice, nor McGonagall, nor Hermione nor anybody else coerce you into doing something you don’t want to do. I want to let you in on a secret, Harry. Boy, girl, something else entirely, you’re always the cute dork I’ve come to like so much.”

“Parvati,” Harry said softly, and before he could say anything more, Parvati leaned in and kissed him. When she pulled away, she sighed.

“What _are_ your feelings? Beyond being rightfully angry. Are you afraid of the rest of the Tournament?”

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t know how to _put it into words_. I’m mad at having my ability to choose for myself constantly torn away. I’m mad that everything I do has to be tainted by this absolute nonsense, and I just feel like I’ve been left standing in the lurch because how much of _any_ of this has been for my own good, and more to serve someone’s aims?”

Harry shrugged and sagged some. “I… I barely know Alice. Really, I mean, we met last year, and the number of serious conversations we’ve had I can count on one hand. I know she cares, but… I don’t know, I feel like we’re going two separate directions and there’s no overlap.”

“Perhaps that’s just how it is then,” Parvati said. “Professor McGonagall’s your other guardian, isn’t she? You could choose to stay with her and Hogwarts and nothing will change.”

“The problem, Parvati, is that sometimes I kind of _like_ the changes. Everything about this place is beautiful, but I don’t want to be pushed into deciding that this is where I want to be. I’d rather make that decision on my own terms, in my own time.”

Parvati nodded. “Then why don’t we go home?”

“Six one way, half-dozen the other,” Harry said glumly.

Parvati looked thoughtful. “Hey, aren’t there some docks here? They have a sailing club, right? Why don’t we see if we can take out one of their boats. My Granddad taught me how to sail when I was young, so we could go out on the bay and get some alone time, where nobody can bug us.”

Harry looked at her pensively before nodding. “That sounds brilliant.” He said, his voice warm with love.

…

“… and then he stormed off! What a little brat!” Sabrina was ranting, crossing her aunt’s study impatiently. “Oh and of course as soon as the brat leaves, his little posse starts in on me. They even got Melanie to _quit_. Do you know how much that screws us for the last two games of the season?”

“I should have you suspended from the team,” Vesta hissed at her niece. “Despite me telling you to cool your jets and not go so aggressively after him, you ignore me and go straight to treating him like a piece of property to be trotted out for your team?”

“C’mon, after that-”

“I don’t want to hear another word about that _damn_ Wronski feint!” Vesta shouted, causing her niece to scowl at her. “I… I suppose I should have expected him to react that way. He’s a very kind spirit, but even he has his limits. I’ve been a bit hasty in trying to recruit him to our school; no doubt he feels that we’re being pushy.”

She grimaced, rubbed her face, and glared at her niece.

“You will have no contact with him. Do you understand me? If you _speak to him_ the only thing that should come out of your mouth is an apology. And a damn good one at that, do you understand me, Sabrina? Your mother would’ve have your _hide_ if she’d seen your behaviour today.”

Sabrina nodded reluctantly.

“Now go,” Vesta said with a wave of her hand.

Sabrina shuffled out of the room and Vesta sagged in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, so we _majorly fucked up,_ ” she muttered to herself. “I let the idea of poaching Harry Potter from Hogwarts– and Ilvermorny, for that matter– get the better of my judgement. I should know better, but I guess I fucking don’t. _Fuck._ ”

She rose to her feet and paced the office for a few minutes, racking her brain as to how she could… make amends for this complete and utter fuck-up. The first and foremost, was trying to remove any and all pressures on Harry. She could organize Alice to take him and his friends to Jamaica Bay tomorrow. Then maybe visiting her and Alice’s home in Skyetown, and then maybe cutting the trip a little short to give them reprieve to head back home in anticipation of the Second Task. Anything to… reduce the stress factor.

It made her a little sad, of course, that the trip was such an abysmal one, but she had nobody to blame but herself.

Sighing to herself, she sat back at her desk and started writing her thoughts out.

…

As the small ship _Tempest_ , a two-person sailboat, floated along the waters around the island that played home to Salem Academy, Parvati was grinning ear-to-ear at her boyfriend.

“When I was a little kid, my granddad taught me a song,” Parvati said. “He used to sing it whenever we went sailing and it was supposed to lift your spirits and inspire you.”

“Die Gedanken sind frei,” Parvati recited loudly. “Werr kann sie erraten?”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“It’s an old German song. It translates to ‘Thoughts are Free’.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “You speak German?”

“The granddad who taught me to sail was German,” Parvati said. “He met my mum’s mum when he spent time in Mumbai as a young adult.”

“Anyway,” Parvati said, before taking a deep breath and adjusting the mast. “Die Gedanken sind frei, werr kann sie erraten– sie fliegen vorbei wie nächtliche Schatten! Kein Mensch kann sie wissen, kein Jäger sie scheißen, mit Pulver und Blei: Die Gedanken sind frei!”

She then flashed a grin at Harry and translated. “Thoughts are free, who could ever count them? They fly by like nocturnal shadows. No person can know them, no hunter can shoot them, with powder and lead: Thoughts are free.”

“It’s a song about freedom,” Harry observed.

“Mmhm,” Parvati said with a nod. “The freedom to be yourself, the freedom to speak– a freedom that a lot of Muggles, particularly those in Germany, didn’t have well into the 19th century. Granddad used to sing it loudly and proudly whenever he went sailing and it just… stuck with me, I guess.”

“Is that the only song he taught you?” Harry asked.

“He taught me another one right before he died, but I don’t remember the lyrics,” Parvati said thoughtfully. “It’s nice to reminisce about him a bit. I miss him.”

“I understand completely,” Harry said. “It feels like there’s _part of you_ , something you can’t really put together, missing?”

“Yeah,” Parvati said with a nod. “He was a big part of my life when I was little, so him not being around anymore… it really does hit me hard sometimes. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel sometimes.”

“It… has its moments,” Harry said simply. “Then there are times where I remember that they both died to protect me, and that they’d want for me to live my life anyway. I know that they loved me, and that won’t change no matter how much time passes.”

“That’s really sweet, Harry,” Parvati said. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Some,” Harry said. “I’m still upset, but it doesn’t feel nearly as bad as it did.”

“That’s good. Let’s head back, I’m sure there’ll be a whole committee waiting for us,” Parvati said with a snort as she turned the sail and caught the wind to take them back to shore.

When they arrived back on shore, they found Alice and Vesta standing there on the docks, both looking rather contrite and uncertain. The smile on Harry’s lips vanished, and he sighed before climbing off the boat and approaching the two adults.

“Harry,” Vesta began with a deep breath. “I can’t begin to apologize enough for Sabrina’s behaviour, and again, my deepest apologies for how we’ve been… practically shoving all this down your throat. That was never our intention, but we seem to be incapable of having the decency and common sense to stop making you uncomfortable. I am _so sorry._ ”

“If you want, we can go back to Britain right now,” Alice said. “It’s not even a big deal if you want to.”

“There’s things I’d still like to see while I’m here,” Harry said– neither addressing the apology (to be honest, he was still frustrated and didn’t want to hear it yet) nor accepting Alice’s offer. “I just don’t want to be _here_ at Salem. What was that market you mentioned, the one in New York?”

“Jamaica Bay?” Alice asked.

“Yeah, that one. I’d like to go see it,” Harry said. “If the others want to stay here, they can, but I don’t.”

“I go where-ever you go,” Parvati said, grabbing Harry’s arm. “I’m sure everyone else agrees.”

“Of course,” Vesta said, nodding. “You’re always welcome to visit us again. Hopefully next time it… goes better than it did today. Again, I’m _so sorry._ ”

“Harry just needs time,” Parvati replied for Harry, glancing at her boyfriend whose face was still twisted into an unsettled expression. “Thank you for apologizing and recognizing where you messed up, but it’d be best if we just got out of here for now.”

“Of course,” Vesta said, bowing her head. She turned and left, leaving the three alone.

“Alice, do you want me to be a girl?” Harry asked, glancing at his godmother with a weary eye.

“What do you mean?” Alice asked. “You’re Harry, regardless of what you are. I would love you just the same if you’re a girl or a boy. Honestly, I’m really not trying to force anything on you. I made sure that your choice to wear a gown to the Ball _was_ your choice, and that thing with the skirt and tights was a prank. Deep down behind all this responsible adult exterior, I’m still the emotionally-stunted prankster I’ve always been.”

Harry sighed and nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just… frustrated, is all. Is there a place we can stay for the night?”

“If you don’t mind it being a little cozy, we can stay at our house in Skyetown,” Alice said.

…

With little fanfare, Harry and his friends departed Salem Academy under a cloud of conflicting feelings. Everyone was impressed by the scale and scope of the school, but was left with a distinct sour taste in their mouths from the presumptuousness that had left Harry in a bad mood.

Harry himself was merely happy to be away from the source of stress and irritation, and felt that _anywhere_ was better than Salem for now.

Skyetown itself was a quaint little hamlet nestled in some foothills. Unlike Salem, which seemed to exist in a perpetual state of mild weather and sunny skies, Skyetown was much more like home. Snow floating down and dusting everything from the cobblestone roads to the old English-style buildings. They walked past pubs that had the distinct aroma of butterbeer and cinnamon and a warm inviting glow in their windows.

Alice’s house was on the far-end of town, and was a comfortable looking farmhouse. It was far from ostentatious, instead giving Harry the distinct impression of a cozy home to share between loving family.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Alice said in a joking voice. “We usually keep it under a preservation spell when we’re not actively living there. It keeps things mostly fresh.”

The cottage itself had only one floor, and Harry could see just about everything, barring bedrooms and probably a loo.

“The kitchen and living room are attached,” Alice said, gesturing to the couch, small television and coffee table, and then to the small kitchen. “There are two bedrooms– one belonging to Alice and me, and the other to… you, Harry, should you want it.”

“Bathroom’s over there,” she gestured to a door on the far-side of the room.

“It’s nice,” Harry said. “You weren’t kidding about it being cozy.”

“Yeah. I figure you lot can sleep in the living room in sleeping bags, or Harry can sleep in his bed and the girls can crash out here or something. It’s really up to you lot how comfortable you feel about it,” Alice said.

Ultimately, everyone decided that they’d rather crash together in the living room, and spent the remainder of that day watching television and playing board games– of which Alice apparently had a great number. Harry found that he quite enjoyed games like _Trouble_ and _Sorry!_ while Ron ended up being the one who cleaned out everyone in a game of Yahtzee with her constant strings of _pure luck_.

After the games had ended, everyone had gathered around the TV where Alice had put some movies on that she’d picked up second-hand. She explained that they had been favorites of her, Lily and James before everything went sour.

Despite the day’s difficulties, it was a very calm and happy time that was shared between friends.

…

The following morning, the group decided to spend some time around Skyetown. Harry, for his part, was actually interested in acquiring some more records that he could add to the collection in Gryffindor Tower (and to his own now burgeoning collection thanks to his mother). Therefore, the first stop of the group was at a record store in town that was owned by a No-Maj, though Alice had reassured Harry and the group that they could speak freely– Skyetown was one of the many towns where the Statute was merely a formality, and less than reality.

The guy behind the counter wasn’t that much older than the group. He stated emphatically that his Dad was the real owner of the shop, but he often worked behind the counter because he loved music. The fact that Harry and the others were coming in looking for music to get their hands on had caused him to flash them a grin.

“We can start with the top ten albums for the year,” Chris said proudly, leading Harry over to a section that contained rows upon rows of vinyls. “Based on what our customers have been getting, the first one that we’ve got _Grace_ by Jeff Buckley. I don’t know if this will be your speed, but we can let you listen and see if you like it.”

While Harry liked _Hallelujah_ he wasn’t quite fond of the rest of the album. It was good, just not to his liking. Harry spent at least two hours following sorting through albums with the helpful teenager, grabbing quite a few for his own listening pleasure and for Gryffindor.

But some of the titles of the albums were just funny, who names their album _Dookie_?

When it came time to pay, Alice had swiftly intervened and took care of it, handing the young man a number of colourful bills to cover the total. Harry had given Alice a look, but she waved him off.

“I’m your godmother, and I wasn’t exactly around for you to grow up. Let me spoil you a bit, would you please?” she asked, earning a resigned sigh and a nod from Harry. After the record shop, they’d bounced over to a bookstore that had caught Hermione’s eye, and it was like taking a hyper child into a candy store. She practically bounced from wall to wall looking over the various books on sale, gathering a bunch to buy– within the reasonable budget she had, at least.

By the time they’d finished with the bookstore, it was nearly noon. The snow had stopped, but it was still breezy and cold, and so the group fled into the warm embrace of a nearby café where they shared in warm pastries and drinks to soothe their chilled bones.

After that, they’d visited a couple more curio shops– Parvati had spotted a scrying glass in the window of a magical thrift shop, but had ended up passing on the opportunity to get it because it had been clouded (and in her words: “having it unclouded and purified would be more trouble than just buying a new one”), Lavender had stopped into a beauty store and had gone cavorting through No-Maj cosmetics and had come out with a haul of her own, grinning ear-to-ear like a madwoman.

Ron had found some inexpensive (and not cursed, thank Merlin) jewelry from one of the stores on Main Street, but had been of two minds on purchasing it owing to the fact it was not inexpensive enough. After some debating and a brief terse argument between the two, Harry had _insisted_ on covering Ron’s purchase– she’d end up coming away with a pair of gold earrings that were shaped like broomsticks.

“If you think this was nice,” Alice said with a grin. “You should see Jamaica Bay. It’s less formal shops like these and more… the world’s biggest _vendor market_. Stalls and the like as far as the eye can see. It’s amazing.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry said. “What sort of stuff have they got there?”

“Everything you could imagine of both No-Maj and magical origin,” Alice said. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

…

And so it was that the very next morning, they’d gathered up very early and took the Magerail to New York. After arriving, Alice had put up a privacy ward around them and had pulled out her bag and withdrew a handful of coloured bills.

“Everyone gets two-hundred dollars to spend today. Don’t buy the first thing you see, get a feel for everything and find some things you _really_ want,” she said. “Okay?”

Everyone agreed and nodded, and she handed the money out. Harry glanced at the bills in his hand. The one sitting on top was marked with a big purple 20. It had an oddly abstract design in grayscale. _This currency is upheld by the integrity of its people_ was printed in bold wide font across the design, with “Twenty dollar note” and “United States of America” printed beneath it.

Turning it over, the reverse of it was a great cresting wave coloured in blues and purples. With the same features of indicating its value and the country of origin, it was a distinctly… beautiful? aesthetic? form of money that Harry had never seen before. It certainly beat the galleon or even the British pound in terms of design.

“Do the No-Maj have their own currency?” Hermione asked, vocalizing the question Harry had been about to ask.

“Nope,” Alice said. “In fact, I wager that wizards are a major factor in why the US moved away from the drab nonsense it was passing off as money back in the day and adopted this stuff instead.”

Pocketing the small bundle of money, Harry followed Alice as they made their way through the local underground towards Jamaica Bay. When they arrived, the market itself was _massive_ and already burgeoning with people. Alice was right, it was more than just the shops they’d seen in Skyetown. It was… _everything and all things_. There were people selling fruit, odds and ends, or their old things they didn’t want anymore, shopfronts selling special goods or services, and all sorts of things that made Harry’s head spin a bit.

What an amazing place this was, it was refreshingly free of the regimented existence of Diagon Alley. It was chaos, but a _good_ kind of chaos.

Harry had even been mildly amused– not mad, when he came across someone selling Harry Potter memorabilia out of the boot of a car. None of it _claimed_ to have his blessing, fortunately, but most of it was definitely items trying to capitalize on his ambiguous popularity with foreign tourists and some emigrés living in America.

For a joke, he’d bought a Harry Potter plush toy for Ginny, which cost him a grand total of 5 dollars. The shop owner hadn’t even _noticed_ who he was, which made Harry laugh after he’d gotten far enough away.

In general, owing to the fact that he very rarely, if ever, _wanted_ anything for himself, he didn’t buy very much that day. He appreciated a lot of the things that had been on offer, but nothing had been something he _desperately_ needed.

To be completely honest, he was just happy to be out and about in a place that didn’t cause him to be stressed out. He could just… exist– and that was something he never got to experience under usual circumstances.

As he wandered the lengths of stalls and vendors, he idly reflected on the trip. It had been an absolute clusterfuck, but not terrible at the same time. He really did enjoy visiting Salem. It was a beautiful place, and had a lot of things that were just… plain interesting, even if he pretended otherwise. He was still unhappy at being pigeon-holed and trapped into things, but he was at least willing to accept it wasn’t intentional malice and move on.

Skyetown and now Jamaica Bay though, had been drastic improvements in just… everything– and it was only now that he was remembering that he had the Second Task impending in mere days, but he… he didn’t feel nervous now? He felt happy, like there was _purpose_ and _reasons_ to that he had nothing to worry about, and that he would hold his own like the rest of them.

It was a good thing, he considered. A _healing_ feeling, even.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be updated weekly, probably on Thursdays, Fridays or Saturdays. It depends on both my schedule and the schedule of the person that has graciously consented to beta this fic in whole.
> 
> The Tiresian Tonic is the invention of my friend inklesspen, and I can't thank her enough for such a clever plot device.


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